Fabula Renatus Crystallis
by PenchantPal
Summary: A re-imagining of Final Fantasy XIII, expanding on the events and characters from the game. Contains minor divergences in plot, mythology, and character details. Updates on the first of every month.
1. Hanging by a Thread

**Chapter 1: Hanging by a Thread**

_Do you remember the legends they told us, back at the orphanage? It was such a long time ago, but I still think of it like it was yesterday. The matrons, they would gather us around once every week, remember? And they would tell us all about the gods—they'd talk about Pulse, the dutiful son; about the trickster Lindzei; Etro, left alone to rule Valhalla, home of the dead; and the absent Bhunivelze, their creator... Their father._

_Those were the stories that always stood out to me, you know? They were just three kids without a father really, stuck in this big wide world that was theirs to do as they pleased with. I liked to imagine I was Etro when I was on the beach, making up Valhalla in the sand however I wanted it to be. You'd always come around and say it looked great, that I was a really great goddess... of death. And I said you were a great big goddess of lies, just like Lindzei, and you'd act all offended, and we'd wrestle around..._

_You were always so careful not to mess up my little Valhalla in the sand though, weren't you? You always wanted everything to be perfect for me. And I always wanted to impress you, and make that little kingdom into something so that when you came by every day, you could be amazed by it, and tell me it was beautiful and mean it, 'cause I knew you'd say it even if it wasn't true._

_I miss those days. I guess you can tell, huh? Even with all the fear, even with all the war around us, I can't help but remember back then fondly. I think, in the end, it's because none of that mattered at the time. I could just ignore the war, run away to the beach, and... be happy._

_I think it's because you were there with me, and that was all that mattered._

* * *

"It's now or never, miss soldier," came a whisper from somewhere in the train car, seeming more akin in volume to a cannon blast in the midst of terrified silence. "Can't imagine the end's too far away now."

There was no response to the man.

The guard had stopped at the door for the eighth time, his shoulders slumped. He must have been sighing. He was tired of this: of walking back and forth down an aisle to make sure none of the terrified families, packed against the sides like livestock, got too rebellious on the trip to what they were sure would be their doom. She would have been tired of it too.

"Miss soldier..." the man hissed, keeping his eyes on the gun hanging loosely to the guard's side as he walked past them once again. The man was getting too impatient, fidgety. She knew she shouldn't have let him in on the plan.

"Wait for the signal," she snapped, almost wincing at the sound of her voice. Whatever outbreaks of hastily stiffened whimpers from around them weren't nearly enough of a cover for their discussion.

"What if the signal ain't coming?" he continued to her great displeasure. "This guy you're working with, you sure he's gonna pull through?"

"Yes," she quickly lied through her teeth in her best attempt to shut him up.

She didn't need this guy here pushing her to leap into action—that was a surefire way to get killed. They had both gotten their cuffs unlocked at this point, and she knew where they had stashed all the weaponry they had confiscated, but they were still outnumbered thirteen-to-two, and the opposition? All armed to the teeth. Nobody was that good. They needed a distraction, one that they were counting on, but one that was long overdue.

More than that, they needed to make sure that when this train crashed, there would still be ground underneath them.

"Stop," she suddenly warned, the man sitting next to her ceasing his anxious fidgeting almost instantly. It was a small mercy, for the guard had stopped in the middle of his walk. His head was turned slightly towards the two of them.

She kept her eyes focused on the long sleeves her arms were hidden in. The clothing for Purge deportees was meant to cover as much of them as possible; hide their humanity from those cheering as they watched their prolonged execution from their comfort of their own home. Those clothes were the only reason their now-freed hands had gone unnoticed.

_Just keep walking... It's not worth it, just leave them be, just keep walking..._ she repeated to herself in her head. The man was right about one thing: they had to be near the end now. The signal was bound to come any minute now. They couldn't get found out at the last second, not when she was so close.

The guard had been standing there for over fifteen seconds now. Surely he would just move on.

He didn't.

The guard turned around and walked up to her, the barrel of a gun now shoved in her face. "You say something?"

"Can't two Purge deportees have a friendly conversation?" the man next to her piped up.

The guard turned his gun to the man. "You sound awfully calm about it."

"Well, I hear Pulse is lovely this time of year," he quipped. "Barely any brimstone."

The guard kept his gaze on the man. She didn't have to see his face to know he was scowling at them from underneath his helmet, but by this point she knew that he was harmless. If he was really concerned about what they were doing, his finger would be on the trigger.

"...Keep it down," he finally told the two of them as he slowly lowered his gun. She knew why. He just wanted to get through all of this without having to deal with a single one of them and keep acting like it was another day on the job.

None of the guards wanted to be here. From a distance, the Purge was sad but absolutely necessary; up close it was a little harder to tell. They might have their orders, but they were still human underneath that armor.

But even so, they were still just an obstacle—standing between her and Serah. All she needed was the long-awaited opportunity and he would be dead at her feet, regardless of who he was, and regardless of whether he believed in the necessity what he was doing or was just following orders. If he stood in her way, he wouldn't be standing for long.

"What?" the guard suddenly spoke, raising his hand to the side of his helmet, obviously receiving some kind of transmission. "What kind of obstruction?" he demanded, his voice leaping an octave. She resisted the urge to give any signal to the man sitting beside her, though she knew they were both thinking the same thing.

"What the hell is a force gate doing out on the middle of the track? The stop isn't for another hundred kilos, at least..." She kept quiet, her eyes firmly locked on her sleeves even as the other deportees around them began to give notice to his words, feverous whispering breaking out among the prisoners. She knew she was the one he was watching.

"Why aren't we slowing? What do you mean, the acceleration's stuck!? We're going full-speed, if that thing's strong enough the whole goddamn train's gonna be derailed!" The guard was panicking now, and the cover of whispering had been thrown out of the window as panic, and a little hope, sewed its way through the deportees.

The guard swore, turning back around to face the two of them once again. "What the hell is going on!?" he screamed at her, pressing the cold steel of the assault rifle against her forehead to the audible gasps of the others.

She didn't even flinch.

"How should I know?" Her tone was sickeningly innocent even to her own ears.

"Don't screw with me! What the hell is a force gate doing on the tracks!? What's the plan, crash the train rather than end up on Pulse? You're going to kill everybody on board! Are you insane!?"

She raised her head then to look up at the man. His whole body was shaking. His finger still wasn't on the trigger. She would regret killing him.

"Evidently."

_SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE—_

An enormous lurch resounded through the train as they were all thrown to the side, the guard falling into a heap at the ground. He was fast to react, she had to admit. He was already trying to get to his feet, fumbling for the gun that he had just realized was missing from his hands.

He wasn't fast enough.

* * *

_"Multiple reports of force gates located on tracks carrying Purge trains, along with mechanical failure in the acceleration controls. The strength of the force gates is unknown, so use of the emergency brakes is the only recommended course of action at this time."_

"Not bad, Maqui. Not bad at all."

The boy, Maqui, grinned widely at the praise before quickly returning his attention to the radio in front of them, finally spewing out PSICOM dispatch after many hours of his hard work.

_"In addition, reports incoming of multiple insurrections by Purge deportees within the Purge trains after the usage of the emergency brakes: assailants are apparently taking advantage of the disorientation brought about by the sudden change in speed. Occurrences appear pre-planned, most likely as part of an attempt to free Purge deportees."_

"Insurrections?" the towering man repeated with a chuckle.

"Never thought I'd be part of an insurrection," Maqui mused, looking incredibly pleased with himself as he leaned back against one of the many large crates they had dragged out with them.

"_Multiple_ insurrections," the other man corrected sternly, though a large grin decorated his boyish features.

_"Officers on-board Purge trains not yet affected by the previously detailed circumstances are heavily advised to reaffirm deportee bindings. The administration of violent force against deportees showing signs of rebellion is also advised. The use of lethal force is permitted as necessary."_

The grins quickly slid off their faces.

_"PSICOM and bioweapon forces are en-route to provide reinforcement. Gunships and warmechs are also incoming in order to provide additional support. Available forces are encouraged to cluster around the Pulse Vestige in order to provide cautionary protection against any possible attempts to make contact with the Pulse fal'Cie. Personnel entrance into the Vestige is strictly prohibited."_

Maqui let out a shaky breath. "We're really doing this, huh boss?"

The man slowly clambered to his feet and briefly dusted off his long trench coat, his lip set in a firm line as he looked out at the erupting chaos.

"Yeah, we are."

Maqui gave a small nod, eyes set on the large radio but not really seeing it. More and more reports of "insurrections" on the Purge trains were coming in.

"Can we do this?" he finally mumbled as he looked to his idol with desperate eyes.

The man hesitated for a moment before crouching down so that they were eye-level. He placed a hand on the scared boy's shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze.

He looked Maqui straight in the eye, and marveled for a moment in the difference between how he was now, and the terrified little boy he had stumbled upon one day. Even scared as he was, there was still a light of determination in his eyes that had been sorely missing from before as he met his gaze head-on.

"Yeah, we can," he told him, his voice quiet but laced with a firm undertone.

Maqui seemed to search his face for any signs of doubt, but then gave a small smile as he nodded. "Okay, Snow."

Snow returned the smile, giving his shoulder one final pat as he stood up. "Besides," he continued, schooling his features into the epitome of bravado, confident smirk included. "The good guys always win. Right?"

Maqui grinned up at him, nodding his head fiercely. "Right!"

Snow laughed, ruffling the young blonde's hair against his headphones. "That'a boy. Now c'mon—we gotta get the transport ready for when the trains get freed up."

Maqui nodded again, jumping to his feet and making to follow Snow before an urgent tone out of the radio caused them both to stop.

_"Alert! All personnel on-board Train 17 have been eliminated—repeat, all personnel on-board Train 17 have been eliminated. Reports are incoming of two deportee combatants—female, early twenties, and male, late thirties—now exiting the train, en-route to the Pulse Vestige. Manasvin warmech and PSICOM preliminary response team have both been eliminated in their attempts to apprehend the two. Be advised, both appear to have prior combat experience, and are considered armed and highly dangerous. Personnel facing possible engagement are encouraged to exercise extreme caution."_

_"I repeat, all personnel on-board Train 17 have been eliminated..."_

"Seventeen..." Maqui muttered under his breath, racking his brain for who it was that had been assigned to that train. Comprehension dawning on his face, Maqui turned to stare at Snow, who was still gazing at the radio with a look of awe. "Is that her?"

Snow nodded his head slowly. "Yep... that would be her."

Maqui gave out a low whistle, looking back at the radio with newfound respect. More than that, he couldn't stop a tiny sense of hope beginning to bubble up in his stomach. "Serah's got one heck of a sister, huh?" he wondered aloud.

Snow finally turned to look at his young companion, a grin growing on his face. "You got that right."

* * *

"Hey, hey, gimme a second, alright!? Hold up!"

"No."

She almost groaned as she heard his heavy footsteps clang against the metal road. Stealth was definitely out of the question so long as she was stuck with him—not that it would be very viable either way, considering that the road was nothing more than a straight, empty line.

Well, it was worse news for them than her. She would have at least been able to give them a quick death that way.

"I get that we can't dawdle, seeing as we're in the middle of a battlefield—"

"Oh, we are? I hadn't noticed."

"—but we need to _slow down_!" he huffed out between deep breaths of air, finally having caught up to her.

She whipped around to face him then, one hand digging into her own hip and the other firmly wrapped around her gunblade, recovered from the confiscated weaponry depository on the train.

"And _why_ would we need to do that?" she hissed, glaring at the dark-skinned man bent over at the waist in front of her.

She had thought, when she ran into this man in the line for deportation, that he would be able to help—obviously being a former pilot from the medals on his jacket—but he was instead proving himself to be quite a hindrance. A damn good shot, but a hindrance all the same.

"You _were_ Guardian Corps, right?" he questioned, looking up at her with a hint of exasperation.

"Where'd you get that idea? The official GC pauldron I'm wearing at this very moment, me telling you I'm GC back on the train, or the fact that I had to hand in my resignation in front of you to the PSICOM officer just to be Purged?" she rattled off in a huff, turning and beginning to walk again.

"I said, hold up! Damn, lady..." The man dashed around her to cut off her path, holding up his hands appealingly. "All I meant was, when you were doing training runs during your Guardian Corps time, did you ever hear about threat assessment and priority?"

"Of course I did," she snapped, tossing her long pink hair over her shoulder.

"Okay, good. Now," he said, speaking very patiently even against her ever deepening scowl, "where do you think we are on that threat priority list right about now?"

She paused.

And this time she did groan.

"The top," she muttered, sounding as though every word was being dragged out of her.

"Bingo!" the man exclaimed, obviously relieved to see she finally understood. "We've been bulldozing over every damn thing in our way like a Chocobo who got into a whole warehouse full'a Gysahl greens. We might be good, but we're still going up against the _army_! We attract too much attention, they're gonna send something our way that we _cannot_ handle. So let's just take things easy for a bit, alright miss soldier?"

She seemed to struggle with the idea for a minute, before finally giving a reluctant nod. She sighed, rubbing at her temples as she sheathed her gunblade in the scabbard at the back of her waist.

He gave her an approving look before turning his head about to survey the area. Fights were erupting across most of the tracks, looking like enormous cables hung through the sky. It seemed like most of the other trains had been successfully hijacked as well, in accordance with the plan pinkie (as he had decided to call her) had mentioned before. He couldn't make out much more detail than that due to the lack of light in the area.

The Hanging Edge—that's what this place was called. He always thought it a pretty apt name, considering most of it was indeed precariously hanging over the Abyss (though the part they were now on was thankfully over Lake Bresha rather than... well, a _very_ long drop). It used to be a quite a metropolis, or so the history books said. It would certainly explain all the highroads and railways running across the sky.

Of course, that was all a thousand years ago—before the end of the War of Transgression, and the Calamity. Now the roads were the only remnant of what was once Cocoon's greatest city.

That day marked the beginning of the end for the war. When Pulse got desperate and unleashed a terrifying attack—the Calamity, as it was known as now—and blew a hole in the side of Cocoon. It was the single most devastating attack ever recorded in history. One-twelfth of the shell was erased in an instant, with over fifteen million deaths as a result. It was the only time casualties were ever measured in whole points of percentage for Cocoon's population.

After that, fueled by outrage and grief, the people of Cocoon decided that enough was enough. They threw every available man and woman—and yes, sometimes children—into battle. Forty years later, the 700-year war ended. They won—even if it still felt like a loss.

War had a way of providing a hell of a lot of sob stories.

He squinted out at the dark horizon. Gunships were starting to arrive, and though the majority of them were focused around the Pulse Vestige, a few were going after the trains, opening fire on the escapees as they rushed to the airbikes and transport shuttles that had showed up.

He shook his head. "Gunning 'em down like animals..." he murmured in disgust.

"Pretty sure animals get better treatment than this," the girl commented darkly from behind him.

He conceded with a shrug, running a shaky hand over the top of his afro. A small chirp sounded from within his hair in response.

"What the hell was that?" pinkie demanded, gunblade already back in her hand.

"Hey, take it easy!" he yelped, jumping back and holding both of his hands protectively over his head. She briefly wondered if he really thought she was going to hit him over the head with a _sword,_ but another chirp made her realize it was not himself that he was protecting.

_"Kweh!"_

"That means you too!" he grumbled, holding his hands out and bopping his head forward, something bright and yellow tumbling out with an indignant chirp.

The girl stared.

"You have a chocobo..." she stated, still staring blankly at the offending ball of bright yellow feathers, "...in your hair."

The man turned his attention away from the small little bird hopping around in his hands to give out a sheepish grin, the fact that they were in the middle of a warzone momentarily lost on both of them.

"Heh... um... Yeah."

* * *

"Everybody stay calm!" came the stern yet soothing voice over the loud din. "We're gonna get you all outta here safe and sound, so long as just settle down, and listen to my voice!"

If possible, the noise within the cramped train compartment seemed to grow even louder.

"Everyone just shut up and listen! Panicking isn't going to help anyone!"

She saw a scowl starting to grow across the woman's face, and briefly considered trying to help, but... Well, it wouldn't be good to draw attention to herself.

Still, she could see the woman's face was slowly becoming angrier and angrier as the people around her started bustling about, trying to get to the exit. The woman was going to snap any second now, she was sure. Any second now...

_"Goddammit, I said everyone SHUT UP!"_

Everyone shut up.

"There! Was that so hard?" The young woman irritably flicked a lock of her black hair out of her face as she stared them all down. "Now if anyone _wants_ to get shot, please feel free to run out there and do us all a favor! Meanwhile, anybody who wants to get out of here _alive_ should go ahead and shut the hell up for the two fu—"

"Lebreau, stop riling up the crowd, will ya?"

"I will kick you in the goddamn face, Gadot!"

The bulky man—Gadot, she supposed his name was—let out a bark of laughter from his position in front of the exit. "Yeah, yeah," he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand and looking unduly calm considering the look of pure rage on the woman's face.

The woman put a hand up to her temples, obviously counting to ten in her head.

"Alright, so like I said!" she began again, voice decidedly calmer as she looked out at them. "We're gonna stick around in here until we get the go ahead, _then_ we'll get to someplace safer. Got it?"

There was a low murmur of agreement amongst the crowd.

"Good! Now sit your asses back down!"

They all complied, getting back into their seats as the woman—whom she now knew to be called Lebreau—then stalked over to Gadot, looking very much like she was about to give him a piece of her mind. She was almost on him when he flashed her a sympathetic grimace, eyes darting over all those seated, causing her to come to a stop. She appeared to deflate, her shoulders sagging and a small sigh escaping her.

The two held a quickly whispered discussion before she turned and began to walk down the aisle of the train car, stopping and offering words of encouragement to the more nervous-looking individuals.

She watched her from her hood, taking in how every person she talked to seemed to cheer up a little by the time she was done with them. She always seemed to know what to say to each one.

"You doing okay?"

She jumped a little, too caught up in her thoughts to notice that _she herself_ was now the one Lebreau was offering words of encouragement to.

Lebreua didn't appear to be bothered by the reaction though, offering her a comforting smile even as she ducked her head to avoid the woman's gaze. "Hey, it's gonna be okay. We're gonna get you outta here. Don't worry."

She looked up cautiously at Lebreau then. She was still smiling reassuringly, crouched down in front of her.

"We're not going to... to Pulse?" she asked hesitatingly, unsure of whether she wanted the woman's answer or not.

Lebreau shook her head firmly in the negative. "No. We're not going to Pulse."

She lowered her head again, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. Lebreau patted her on the knee before standing up and making her way down the aisle to continue her perfect record of reassurance with the next person in distress.

Well, almost perfect record.

* * *

"You know, you never told me your name," the man commented idly as he watched her work a series of levers.

"No, I didn't."

He laughed, shaking his head before turning his attention to the bright yellow bird fluttering around his head.

"Does it have a name?" she asked, jerking her head towards the baby chocobo.

"Does _she_ have a name," he corrected. "And no, she doesn't."

She gave a snort of laughter, not noticing his darkening expression as he watched the bird. "You carry that bird around in your _hair,_ and yet you haven't given her a name?"

He shrugged. "'Fraid she's not my bird."

"You carry around random birds in your _hair_?" she shot out incredulously.

"No, it's not a random..." He sighed, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Just forget about the bird, alright? What's your name?"

"You first."

"Sazh—Sazh Katzroy. Pleased to meet ya," he told her, holding out a hand in greeting.

She ignored him.

He let out another laugh, shaking his head once again in what was quickly becoming his go-to response to the stand-offish soldier.

A few minutes passed in relative silence, only punctured by the sounds of distant battles and her messing about with the complicated-looking controls. They were on a large transport platform, used to carry supplies and people between the many highroads suspended in the sky here. Sazh was leaned back against the side of the control station, glancing over at pinkie every once in a while to see how she was doing, but mostly keeping his attention on the chocobo.

The little bird in question came to land on the stomach of one of the many corpses of PSICOM officers scattered across the deck, this one just in front of Sazh. It hopped about on top of the dead man's armor, pecking at little random spots. Blood leaked out of the helmet from the two bullet holes Sazh had put there.

Sazh frowned, reaching his leg out to give the chocobo a little nudge with his foot. The chocobo seemed to huff indignantly, but Sazh continued nudging it until it jumped off the body and went to patter around the deck.

He sighed, shaking his head at the peculiar little bird. He damn well knew that war was not the place to be carting around a pet, but his hands were tied in this particular case.

"Lightning."

His turned his head to the side to look at the pink-haired girl who had broken the silence. She was now crouched in front of the panel and apparently tinkering with its innards.

"What about it?" he asked, confused.

"No, I mean..." He could scarcely make out a frown on her face from where he stood. "That's my name."

"Your name's Lightning?" he asked, tilting his head to try and get a better look at her.

"Yes, my name's Lightning," she snapped, glaring at him. "There. You happy?"

He paused to examine her scowling face for a moment, seeing her cheeks starting to grow red from embarrassment. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. _She's still just a kid, ain't she?_

"Well, nice to meet you, Lightning," was all he finally said, nodding his head at her before looking away.

He thought he might have heard a grumble in response.

* * *

Snow looked out at all the people gathered on the road in front of him, most in the middle of casting off the robes that marked them as Purge deportees. There were kids here—a lot of them. Families too, huddled up tightly around each other. Even the ones without anybody still clustered together, trying to get some comfort just from the presence of strangers in the same conditions.

"Those sons of bitches. How could they do this?" Gadot asked from his side, shaking with barely contained anger.

Lebreau and he had lost almost a third of the people from their train just trying to get them to the shuttles so that they could bring them here, their base camp of sorts. One-third of the people they were supposed to save gunned down in front of them.

Gadot was furious. Lebreau was trying her best not to let it affect her. She was now going between the survivors they had all gathered, trying to comfort them while her own nerves were fraying at the ends.

Maqui wasn't taking it any better. As more and more reports of casualties came in, his attention became more and more focused on the PSICOM dispatch. He was trying to block out everything, just as he had done before Snow met him.

Snow could only sigh.

"How are we doing?" he asked of the most recent member of their close-knit group, a young man who joined them a few years back by the name of Yuj.

"So far? We've managed to take over almost all of the trains, but once we try to get the people off of 'em, well..." The blue-haired teenager morosely shook his head. "We need to get them out of this place _fast_ is all I can say. PSICOM's coming down hard on us, and those gunships around the Vestige are beginning to break off and head our way. We don't skedaddle soon, we're screwed."

"I dunno if we got much room for skedaddling, kid," Gadot muttered, casting a worried glance at their quickly dwindling forces trying to stave off the incoming PSICOM soldiers.

Snow frowned, propping his fist underneath his chin as he thought.

There were so many people here. There was no way they could shuttle them all out without PSICOM blowing them out of the sky. They needed to distract PSICOM, hold them off until they could at least get some of refugees to one of their own trains; use them to carry the people away from here. But they only had so many trains...

"Maqui," he called out.

"Yeah, boss?" the blonde-haired boy asked from his position sitting in front of the radio.

"How many guns we got left?"

Maqui actually managed a laugh. "Believe me, boss, of all the things we got to worry about, how many guns we have is not one of them."

Out of the corner of his eye, Snow saw Gadot raise an eyebrow and walk over to one of the crates they had brought up.

"_Damn_, kid, you weren't kidding," he heard his bronze-skinned friend exclaim as he lifted the top off one of the boxes. "How the hell did you get _this_ much stuff?"

Maqui shrugged. "People find out you're trying to save their wives and kids, they suddenly have a lot to offer. Bodhum is—or was, I guess—a resort town, remember?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, that means there were a lot of people caught up in the Purge were just there on trips or whatever, meaning they had friends and family from other places around Cocoon. Most of the time, anyone who knew anyone being deported would be getting Purged alongside 'em. Not the case this time."

"So people just sent you all of these?" Yuj questioned in disbelief, watching Gadot hold up one of the guns to examine it.

"Yep," Maqui confirmed, nodding. "We got supporters from the Guardian Corps, the Cavalry, weapons researchers, and even regular old rich folk. There was this one guy from Palumpolum—"

"So we've got plenty of guns, right?" Snow asked, cutting him off.

Maqui blinked. "Yeah, like I said. We're just low on people to actually use 'em. Why?"

Snow forced himself to look away from Maqui's innocent expression. He let out a deep breath, straightening up to look at the terrified people gathered before them.

He hated this. He hated that he had to do this. But he did have to do it. If they were going to get anybody out of here alive, they were going to need people to help fight off PSICOM. They would need people to distract PSICOM from the shuttles and trains.

They needed a distraction to even have a chance of saving these people.

He needed a distraction to have a chance of saving Serah.

"Snow?" Gadot asked, carefully setting the gun back down in the box. "What are you planning, man?"

"Maqui got us the guns," he explained quietly, his voice a monotone. "I'll get us people to use them."

* * *

"What the—"

Sazh was knocked to the ground by the platform's heavy lurch, caught off guard when it was finally spurred into motion after Lightning's prolonged bout with the controls.

"A little warning next time, miss soldier..." he grumbled, getting to his feet. A loud chirp told him that the chocobo agreed.

"I'll keep that in mind the next time that two of us have to jury-rig a platform ferry," she dryly assured.

He waved her remark off, making to lean against the control panel again. "Don't even know _why_ you had to jury-rig the damn—"

"I'd step back from that if I were you," she warned, gesturing her head towards the panel.

His eyebrows knitted together as he took in her serious expression.

"Why? What's it gonna do?"

"I don't know. Either blow up or electrocute you."

"What the _hell_ did you do to that thing?" he cried out, hastily stepping back from the device.

"I needed it to go fast," she explained with a shrug. "But that's not the problem with it."

"Well then, what _is_ the problem with—"

The sharp ping of her gunblade firing off a round into the control panel cut him off, electricity fizzling off the device before the lights decorating its surface dimmed.

"What the hell was that!?" he demanded, spinning on his heel to face her.

"Needed to make sure you wouldn't stop it before you heard what I had to say," she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What are you even talking about, pinkie?" He let out a low groan, wiping his hands down over his face. "Alright, fine. You have my full attention. But what if I want to stop it _after_ I hear what you have to say?"

She shrugged.

He glowered at her.

"Where are you going with this, miss soldier? What are you doing?"

"I'm getting us into the Pulse Vestige," she stated quietly, crossing her arms in front of her chest and looking out at the large structure in the distance that he just realized they were now hurtling towards.

His jaw dropped open. "The _Vestige_!? That thing's built like a fortress, and last I checked it had half-a-dozen gunships circling it! How are you gonna even get... in... side..." He trailed off, staring at her in disbelief. "No."

"Yes," she confirmed with a nod, immediately crushing whatever hope he had left for her state of mind. "I'm going to ram it."

"You're going to kill us! You're actually going to kill us!" he yelled, flinging his hands up into the air. "What on Cocoon is in that thing that's worth killing yourself for!?"

She shot him a quelling glare. "Why don't you tell me?"

"What are you—"

"_You_ keep looking at the Vestige as well—don't think I haven't noticed. And I can see it on your face—you want to get in there just as badly as I do; you're just too scared to do anything about it."

He drew back, hastily averting his eyes from her hard stare.

"Not to mention, when I said when we were headed to the Vestige, what might currently be the most dangerous place on all of Cocoon, your first thought wasn't to ask _why_; you just wanted to know _how_. So... You first," she coldly stated, staring him down.

The deep buzz of the engine reigned over the platform, both parties silent.

Sazh's gaze kept locked on to his feet. She was right, of course. He should have known she would have noticed. She was a damn fine soldier, and missing something as obvious as his focus on the arrowhead-shaped building as it was dragged through the sky was something she couldn't miss—couldn't afford to when they were putting their lives in each other's hands.

He needed to get into the Vestige—he knew that. But this? This was crazy. Ramming a whole platform into that monolithic structure... Sure, it might puncture the hull and get them inside, but it might also kill them both in the process.

A soft chirp diverted his attention to the baby chocobo questioningly pecking at his pant leg. He felt his gaze soften as it rested upon the little bird, remembering the day he had bought it. It felt like a lifetime ago even now.

This was ludicrous. This was almost certainly doomed to failure, with both of them sinking to the bottom of the lake miles below.

But he _needed_ to get into the Vestige.

"You _are_ insane," he murmured, earning a glance from the soldier. He looked up at Vestige they were rapidly approaching. Clouds of mana curled off of its dark surface like smoke off a fire.

A fire he was headed straight for.

He was going to get burned.

He was going to get burned _bad_.

"But I guess I'm not in any position to talk," he concluded, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

He turned his head to look at Lightning, this girl he was absolutely sure would be the death of him. The corner of her mouth was turned in a sort of half-smile as she met his gaze.

"Evidently."


	2. Liar's Dice

**Chapter 2: Liar's Dice**

_I liked game night. I always thought it was so neat when we'd all sit down and play together on the floor with busted up cards and dice._

_I didn't have a favorite game for the longest time. I just went through everything, having fun with them all, but never really caring too much about any of them. Sure, I liked some games more than others, but there was never that one for me, you know? Whenever it was my turn to pick, I'd just pass and hand it off to the next kid who wanted to play their favorite so badly._

_I should have known that the game you showed me was the one that would become my favorite—Liar's Dice._

_The first time you picked it, I thought it was the strangest thing. I didn't understand it all. To the other kids, it was just cool to see something new. They didn't understand it either though, and they just forgot about it after it was over. You won of course, but you looked so sad that they didn't care about it._

_But I wanted to understand. I wanted to understand why you picked that weird game. What was it about Liar's Dice that you liked? So I asked, and you told me._

_You said it was about reading people. About seeing what they didn't want you to see, and making sure they couldn't to the same to you._

_So when it was my turn to pick the game, I picked Liar's Dice. I remember you looked at me with just this—this huge, surprised grin on your face. It was worth bringing it up for that alone, but I really did want us all to give the game another shot, you know?_

_That time though, I wanted to make sure everybody else understood, make sure it was a fair game. I got you to teach us all your tricks. We taught them the rules, yeah, but we also taught them how to really play it; how to read other people's tells, how to suppress their own. The Matrons had the hardest time picking out when we were lying about anything after that._

_I bet you remember what happened then. It was down to just the two of us. Me against you. And we were taking it so seriously. You couldn't let me beat you at your own game, and I couldn't lose at the one game I was really good at. More than that, we both knew we'd never go easy on one another._

_So we played... and I won. Not every time after, but that time I did win._

_After that, every time it was up to me, we would play Liar's Dice. I think the other kids got tired of the game pretty fast, 'cause it would always be the two of us in the end, same as that time. You would always make it because no one could read people better than you._

_As for me, well... The other kids said it was because no one could lie better than me._

* * *

"The Sanctum's afraid."

He was tall, this man. She supposed he was the leader of this whole operation, though he didn't exactly look the part. All of his clothing was haggard and torn, and he was wearing a _lot_ of clothing; lots of layers, like he needed to be ready to handle the cold.

"They're scared. They think we have a chance—a real chance of beating them."

She could see a little blonde hair peeking out in front of his eyes, out from under that black bandanna he wore. His shirt was zipped down pretty low at the top, probably in some attempt to show off for the ladies or something. It let her see that he was pretty muscular, though.

"They think that if they don't act—and soon—that we'll get one over on them. That this Purge will end with us all alive and well. And they can't be having that now, can they?"

That long trench coat he wore, it was kind of a tan-beige. It had seen a lot of use—that was for sure. His other clothing seemed more haphazard, like it was something he had thrown on, or maybe just found one day. The trench coat looked important to him, though.

"The thing is... they're right. We _can_ do this. We can win this thing. We can get back home. We can come back from this. But only if we're willing to stand and fight for it!"

He was obviously poor, possibly homeless. But he hadn't let it get him down. He still held his head up high. He still had pride. He still had passion.

"We need you with us, helping us. We're all in this together, so let's fight together! Let's prove the Sanctum right! They're expecting spit in their faces, and I don't know about you, but I'm sure-as-hell happy to oblige them!"

He seemed like a good person, as far as she could tell. He seemed like someone who was genuinely trying to do his best. She was just guessing, but there were so few things about this whole situation that she did know for sure.

She did know one thing for absolute certain, at least.

"Let's go out there and _win_—because we _can_ win. We can do this, and they know it. We can all make it out of this alive."

This man was a liar.

* * *

This guy was an idiot.

Who did he think he was, anyway? He was obviously delusional. There was no way on Cocoon they were going to beat PSICOM. PSICOM was the elite hand of the Sanctum, used for handling threats to whole of Cocoon. PSICOM was at the absolute top of the list of people not to mess with—_he_ knew that and he was only fourteen-years-old.

But this guy was acting like they could win when they couldn't even stand a chance. The Sanctum wasn't scared, they were just surprised. Once the reinforcements got here, they would be dead. They would all be dead. And the worst part was that he still understood why. They couldn't risk a single one of them having made contact with the Pulse fal'Cie. They couldn't risk one of them being a Pulse l'Cie.

It was useless. All of this was. They were all going to die. And yet these people kept on denying it.

People who had never held a gun in their whole lives, who had probably never even been in a fight, were lining up to join in the battle against their own government. They were getting ready to take on the government that had protected them their whole lives, but that they now hated because they were currently the ones the rest of Cocoon needed protecting from.

They were idiots. Only an idiot would try to fight this.

Never more in his life did he wish he was an idiot.

"Honey?"

He wished he could jump to his feet, grab a gun, and fight. He wished he could fight even though it was completely futile. He wished he wasn't so afraid. He wished he wasn't shaking.

"Honey, I need you to listen to me."

He didn't belong here. He shouldn't be caught up in this. Why had they even come to that stupid town? It was a beach city, so what? They lived next to a lake. They could have just stayed home, heard about this whole stupid thing on the news instead of actually being a part of it.

"Hope."

He looked up at the sound of his name. He hated his name. He thought it was a big joke that somebody like him would be called Hope. His mom made sure not to call him by his name. She never called him Hope unless she was being serious.

"Mom?"

She was getting up from where they had both been sitting, in the middle of the big crowd of deportees. She was giving him a strange look. It was a serious look, but it was also... sad?

Why was she looking at him like that?

"I'm going to help them."

He stared up at her in confusion, not understanding. His mom was always so confusing. His dad, at the very least, was always direct when he talked to Hope. She was just being confusing again.

"I'm going to fight with them. I'm going to help them fight PSICOM."

_No._

"What?"

"They need my help, Hope."

_No, no, no._

"You'll die."

She was smiling that weird smile of hers at him, the one she'd always wear when something was very, very wrong. It was the same smile she had worn when she told him that they would have to leave all of his friends and move to another city just because of his dad's job.

He hated it when she smiled like that.

"I love you, Hope."

* * *

"You have room for one more?"

Snow took a steadying breath before turning to face yet another volunteer. An older woman with shoulder-length silver hair was standing in front of him. She was a small thing, and she looked almost twice his age, but she still had the same resolute look on her face as all the others.

He forced a smile on to his face in reply, just as he had with the rest of them.

"The more the merrier," he told her, gesturing towards Yuj who was handing out guns to all the volunteers. Gadot was just ahead of him, giving instructions to all the people who had no prior experience with the weapons.

She gave him a grateful nod, which only served to make his heart sink deeper. There was something else in her eyes that gave him pause, but she had already turned to make her way over to Yuj before he could make an effort at deciphering it.

Snow sighed and tried to refocus his thoughts. The amount of volunteers they had gotten after his speech was staggering, to both his benefit and displeasure. He had hated every word that came out of his mouth during those few minutes, even though it would probably prove to be the deciding factor in whether or not any of them came out of this whole thing alive.

He inwardly reasoned that he couldn't have possibly told these people the truth—couldn't tell them that everybody who went out to the front lines of this battle with them was bound to die one way or another. They would have lost hope, wouldn't have even bothered, and maybe even pled for forgiveness from the Sanctum and a restoration to their previous sentence of exile to Pulse, as much as a death sentence that most likely also was.

They had needed confidence. They had needed someone to tell them that it was going to be alright. And so long as they thought that, they still had a chance that it would turn out that way.

No, he couldn't regret this. Not now. He had made his choice, and he would have to live by it.

He just prayed that it would turn out to be right one.

* * *

She quietly watched the leader of this ragtag operation walking up, two guns in hand, to the crowd of deportees not volunteering to fight. A fair number had already taken up residence on the exit trains, eagerly waiting for the others to take up the fight with PSICOM and distract them so that the trains could get the signal to leave.

"Alright, we're just about ready to take off," he told them, lifting up one of the guns to rest on his shoulder. "For you guys staying, don't feel bad about it, alright? Believe me, we all understand. But we do want a couple more of you guys to at least be armed in case any PSICOM show up and give you trouble. There'll still be a lot of people sticking around to keep guard, but we'd figure we'd be better extra safe than sorry, right?"

"So," he said, holding out the other gun by the side for any one of them to take, "anybody up for the job?"

Silence. She wasn't surprised. Here there were only the cowards not comfortable or fast enough in their fear to have secured a seat on one of the trains. This man should have known better, really.

"You up for it, kid?" he asked simply, holding out the gun to a hooded boy sitting next to her. Almost immediately, the boy's head began to shake back and forth, scuttling back away from the tall man, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

The man's smile faltered for a moment as a pained expression caught his face, though the boy himself was too entrapped by his own fear to notice. He offered the boy a small nod though, stepping back as it became increasingly obvious to everyone involved that no one would be taking him up on his offer.

He offered a painstakingly easy smile to all of them. "Hey, it's alright. No one's gotta do anything they don't want to. Not like PSICOM's gonna get close to you, anyway," he told them with a cocky grin and a laugh. "I guess I'll be off then. None of you go getting into any trouble, you hear me? Otherwise, Lebreau will be having a field day with you when she gets back."

He gave another laugh, obviously meant to put them all at ease, but she intuited that this one was just as forced out as his last. She felt bad for the man, really. He was a liar—that much she knew for certain—but he seemed well-meaning. Sometimes you had to lie, especially in the middle of a war. And really, who was she to judge?

He was turning away now, making to walk back to the team that would be heading out to the front-lines. It was now or never, she concluded.

So she took a deep breath and scrambled to her feet, holding up her hand in the air as she plastered a smile on her face.

"I'll do it!" she called out, jogging over to the surprised man as he turned to her light, bubbly voice. He seemed to be in shock at her appearance, her hood pulled down to reveal her bright peach-colored hair, tied at the back in twin pigtails. Her eyes were soft and innocent exactly as she intended, having long-since developed all the cynicism necessary to fake naivety.

It all gave him pause, forcing him to examine her. She caught another flash of discomfort on his face, similar to what he had worn when talking to the scared boy. He was obviously new to lying through his teeth—new to wearing the expression that people wanted rather than the one he felt. He was letting out too many glimpses of his real emotions.

"Sure you can handle it?" he asked, holding out the gun which she dutifully took.

She gave a serious nod to him, not too enthusiastic, nor subdued. "Yep."

He didn't appear convinced however, as she expected. "You know how to work that thing?"

She took on a thoughtful expression as she examined the object in her hands. "Hmm... I dunno. Can you teach me real quick?" she chirped, looking up at him hopefully.

He eyed her apprehensively for a moment, no doubt reconsidering his plan, but eventually relented and held out his own gun. "Alright, this here is the safety, which is basically the on-off the switch for the gun. To change it, you just press it back like so..."

She listened carefully to his explanation as he pointed to the different parts of the weapon, nodding dutifully at the appropriate times. Of course, she still had to keep up the act, and so there was also a fair amount of needlessly repeating questions he had already answered. To his credit, he reiterated his instructions without any fuss, as though he was expecting her not to grasp it easily.

"Think you got it?" he repeated for the third time as she looked down the sights of the gun.

"Yep, I think so," she replied cheerfully, acting happy at finally having gotten down the simple mechanics despite having already fully grasped them several minutes ago.

"You sure?" he asked, looking quite unsure himself.

She playfully rolled her eyes and pointed the gun over off the side of the highroad they were based on. "Bang," she mimed, jerking the gun backwards as though firing off a round.

He gave a nervous laugh, but it was a more genuine one than she had heard out of him before. "Alright, alright," he conceded, holding his hands up in defeat. "Take care of them, will ya?"

She grinned at him, straightening up and giving him a goofy salute with her free hand, even though it was the wrong one for the action. "Yes, sir!"

He laughed again, this one freer than the last, and mimicked her erroneous gesture. "I'll see you all later then," he said to the gathered crowd, giving one last nod before heading off to where that Gadot man and the other volunteers were waiting. "We'll have this thing won in no time, so stay out of trouble until then!" he called out over his shoulder.

"We will!" she assured, doling out a happy wave and light tinkle of laughter in goodbye.

Laughter was always the best method to relieve tension in others and cast suspicion off of her, so long as it was used appropriately. By this point, she had forgotten how many times she had used that laugh just to put the people around her at ease.

_I can't remember how my real laugh sounded,_ she sadly realized as she watched the man join up with Gadot. He was obviously telling the bulky man about what had just happened going by the concerned glances they both sneaked at her. She nodded in reassurance at them both, then turned her gaze down to her new weapon and pretended to examine it.

The smile on her face did not falter for a moment.

* * *

"She'll be fine. Not like she's the only person on guard," Gadot was telling him, though they both knew it was in an attempt to comfort the both of them.

"I shouldn't have even gone over there," Snow muttered to himself, forcing his gaze away from the innocent young girl whom he had just handed a gun. "We had plenty of guards already. I shouldn't have put that on her. Shouldn't have made her feel like she had to—"

"Hey, don't do that," Gadot warned, glaring at Snow. "You're the hero, right? You don't got room for regrets. You start second-guessing yourself, then we start second-guessing you, and then we don't have a leader anymore. Just keep your eyes forward. Got it?"

He held in a heavy sigh and simply nodded to his friend. "Got it."

Gadot was right, after all. Ever since Lebreau and the two of them had been stuck together in the group home, Snow had been the leader of their ragtag bunch—not because he was the smartest (Lebreau) or the strongest (Gadot), or even because he was the best at taking care of them (Lebreau, again). No, it was because he was the one who would always keep them going.

When they were lost, without a purpose as they so often found themselves to be, he'd always be the one to drag them all up and find a new path. He was always the one given the deciding vote—who'd chart out their course—because he was the one the other two believed in.

He was "the hero of their little story together," as the other two had described him back when they were just three kids together at the home. And though it was quite the demanding part, he was happy to play it.

"Besides," Gadot began, breaking Snow out of his thoughts, "the good guys always win. Right?"

A smirk found its way on to Snow's face, the giant man rolling his eyes but offering a nod to his friend none-the-less. "Right."

"Oh yeah, that's the spirit," Gadot drawled mockingly.

Snow let out a long-suffering groan but straightened up considerably, putting on his best brave face. "The good guys always win," he firmly stated, punching his hand into his palm a bit more forcefully than necessary.

"That's better," Gadot approved, clapping Snow on the back. "Now c'mon, you've been holding us up enough as it _what the hell is that_!?"

Snow spun around, gun already lifted up as he turned to the source of the sudden cries from around the camp, eyes widening as he uncomprehendingly took in the enormous collision moments away from—

_BRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—_

Snow winced. Even from this distance, the sound from the two gargantuan objects scraping together as they crashed into one another—well, as one crashed into the other—was still torture for their ears.

As the horrible screech finally fell away, he raised his gaze back up to the conglomeration of what used to be a transport platform and...

_The Vestige!?_

"What the _hell_ was that?" Gadot repeated, staring dumbstruck at the artifact Pulsian building and the long platform now protruding out of its lower half.

"Guys, the dispatch!" Maqui hurriedly called out from in front of the large radio, where the outright panicked voice of the operator now spewed out of.

_"Alert to all units! It appears that a transport platform has been rammed into the Pulse Vestige, and has pierced the hull! Reports are inconclusive, but it appears that the perpetrators of the attack were the same high-priority targets from before: the pink-haired female, early twenties—"_

"God _damn_!" Gadot nearly shouted from beside an equally astonished Snow.

_"—male, late thirties. Assailants both appear to have entered the Vestige. Be advised, all human forces are strictly prohibited from entering the Vestige under any circumstances! Repeat, all human forces are strictly prohibited from entering the Vestige under any circumstances! Any pursuit into the Vestige must be carried out only via bioweapon or warmech units."_

"What on Cocoon is going on!?"

Guns firmly clenched, Lebreau and Yuj skidded to a stop in front of the group silently clustered around the radio, all of whom were wearing disbelief so steadily on their faces they might as well have been masks.

"Well!?" she demanded, eyes flickering in turn to each of their faces. "What the hell is going on? What was—"

"Lightning."

Lebreau's jaw snapped shut at the chorused reply, her expression screwed up in confusion. An equally befuddled Yuj looked between them all for answers, yet found them unyielding. Hesitatingly, he made to continue Lebreau's line of questioning, not noticing the dawning realization on her own face.

"What are you guys—?" he began, but was cut off by an exclamation from the woman at his side.

"God _damn_."

* * *

"What do you think that was?"

Her head snapped to the young boy who had walked up beside her without her even noticing, inwardly scolding herself for not having been paying attention.

"Sorry," he amended quickly, eyes warily resting on the large gun in her hands.

She let out her customary tinkle of laughter to ease the nervous atmosphere, forcing her body to relax. "Nah, it's fine." She flashed him a quick smile before returning her attention to the Vestige, hanging mutilated in the distance. "I don't have a clue what did that, though—not any more than you."

"Sorry," he repeated, perking up her attention at the shy undertone she picked out of his voice.

She faced him again and gave him another smile, this one more reassuring. "Aw, don't worry about it. I'm curious about that thing too—hence the staring contest." She held out a hand to him in greeting. "I'm Vanille. Nice to meet'cha."

"Oh, I'm Hope," he replied, a flicker of distaste in his tone as he spoke his name, but instantly shaking her hand with what she could tell to be a desperate need for consolation—one that she was happy to oblige if she could.

"How are you doing?" she asked, pleasantly surprising herself by the genuine kindness in her tone. She quickly deemed it worth for naught though as she watched the annoyance quickly taking root in his boy's face.

"How is anybody doing? We're all being _Purged_. Cocoon wants us dead, and even if we get out of here alive, we're just gonna be hunted down." His voice was bitter, hopeless; it was a tone she very desperately wished wasn't so familiar to her. More than that, she wished she had more than just a noncommittal "hmm" for her response.

Lacking denial, the statement lingered in the air between them; it was an atmosphere she knew couldn't be brushed away by her sunshiny behavior, so she resolved instead to divert the topic at hand. "Why didn't you get on one of the trains out?" she asked curiously. "I think they said it'll be a while before they get back. No room?"

"No, that wasn't it." He shook his head, attention focused across the sky on the road leading up to where the Vestige had been parked ever since it's "incident." It was the road the volunteers were currently advancing over. "I mean, I don't know if they had room either way, but I just... I'm waiting."

She followed his gaze to where it remained locked on to a silver-haired woman in the distance, steadfastly keeping fire on the PSICOM forces they were engaged with. She gave a small nod as the two fell quiet.

It was Hope that broke the silence, eyes still unwavering from the woman as she ran between bits of debris lining the road. "Did you... Do you know anybody else being Purged here?"

It was a silent question, one spoken with a level of trepidation that shouldn't be found in someone his age, but—as she personally knew—often was all the same. It was a question she did not the perfect reply to, one that she did not which mask to put on to face.

She couldn't but help but laugh at how absurd the idea of honesty was to her now, startling him out of his concentration and birthing an expression of childlike confusion that he would no doubt hate to know he was wearing as he turned to look at her. It was never a question of the truth or more falsehoods, but rather which of her many lies to give out.

"No, nobody else," she finally told him in the midst of her dwindling chuckles. He looked so innocent, so simply befuddled in that moment that she decided to throw caution to the wind for the sake of just a little more bitter truth—while she still had the chance. "And I know it's selfish, but... I kinda wish there _was_ someone with me, so I wouldn't be alone."

He opened his mouth, probably for a reprimand that she most definitely deserved, but he only closed it again after a moment. She didn't know what it was—if her words struck home to this boy trapped here with her, or if the watery smile that had forced its way on to her face was enough to make him abstain—but he was looking at her so sadly that all that was going through her mind at that moment was whether or not she should apologize for putting the burden of her truth on him. But just as she was opening her mouth, he spoke up.

"We could keep each other company," he murmured so forlornly that she had to resist the urge to immediately reach out and try to reassure him, but she stopped herself to let him continue. "I know it's not, you know, but... But maybe it'll help," he finished, giving a helpless little shrug.

She smiled as much as she could at him in the moment, but it only turned out to a tight pursing of her lips as she raised her sleeve and wiped away at her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, it'll help."

* * *

Snow had never been in a battle before.

He had been in _fights_, sure. Scuffles, brawls, punch-ups, throw downs, and what have you. He had fought his fair share of monsters, making money alongside the others by acting as a ragtag security group for Bodhum.

He had more than just a basic grasp of strategy from all his time leading the operations. He had seen some bad injuries, and yes, he had seen some people die—none of their group thankfully, but sometimes someone would wander too far and find a monster who had wandered too close and, well...

The point was Snow was a good leader, or so he thought at least. He could handle seeing injury, seeing death. He hated it, but he knew that sometimes things just happen—he could deal with it, keep himself and others going despite it. He was good in a fight.

But this wasn't just some fight. This wasn't one of the drunken brawls Lebreau had irritably called him in to break up, or that he had participated in once or twice before he met Serah. No, this was... this was a war. And they were losing—_badly_.

The worst part was that he wasn't surprised.

He had never come into this thinking they could win. He had gone into this, brought these people they were supposed to rescue, because he needed to delay how long it was until they lost. He just needed to buy some time to cart as many other people out. When the time came, they would take whatever survivors they had here and try to get them out as well. Until then, he had no other choice but to watch these people he was supposed to save get shot, mauled, beaten, eviscerated...

It hurt. But he could do it—_had_ to do it. This was the only option they had.

"You alright?" asked the same silver-haired woman from before. Currently being behind a pile of wreckage that used to be a pillar but now served as cover, Snow allowed himself a moment to try and focus on her. She was disheveled, obviously, but it appeared she had thus far avoided any serious injury. Her eyes were wide, and she was shaking (from adrenaline or fear Snow had no idea), but she was keeping calm, and that was about as big of an asset Snow could find at that moment.

"Hey, don't worry about me," he told her, flashing a toothy grin.

She didn't buy it of course, narrowing her eyes at his bloodied and exhausted form as he leaned back against the twisted metal. "No, I'll keep worrying, thank you."

He laughed. There wasn't anything else he could do. "Well, I'll just have to prove you wrong then, huh?" he said, jumping to his feet with false exuberance. Her gaze didn't soften for a moment, only raising an eyebrow at him. "I'll be fine, really."

Looking away from her stony—yet concerned—glare, he instead focused on the Pulsian artifact they were slowly approaching; the large building still hanging limply in the sky with Lightning's platform sticking out of its side. More of the defensive units circling the Vestige were breaking off and heading to the front-line group of deportees turned insurgents as they got closer, leaving the immediate area around the Vestige less guarded than he could remember seeing it all day.

His plan, suicidal as it was, seemed to be working so far. Gadot and him had led their forces straight up to the place the Sanctum most definitely did not want them to be, and as such all of PSICOM's was focused squarely on them while Lebreau and the others focused on getting the remaining people away on the trains without being noticed.

Yuj, always the tactics guy, had told Snow about this point of the approach—when they got close enough to the Vestige for the forces guarding it to focus all their attention on them, but far enough way where that attention meant they would come out to meet them instead of clustering even tighter around the structure in question. In their hurried briefings, Yuj had repeatedly stressed to Snow that this point was the best chance—no, really the _only_ chance of a single person being able to make it to the Vestige without _immediately_ getting shot out of the sky. Actually getting inside the thing would be a matter of insane skill on a velocycle, and even more ridiculous amounts of luck. So yeah, mostly luck.

Well, Snow had always considered himself to be reasonably lucky. He was hoping he could cash-in all the luck for the rest of his life just to get his way inside. And as it was, it would be a helluva lot easier finding an entrance than they thought it would be, thanks to Lightning. He supposed they should've had more plans based around Lightning doing something so completely insane and brilliant; it was something he most definitely would be keeping in mind for the future.

His eyes scanned the narrow battlefield, quickly landing on his bronze-skinned tank of a friend who was taking shelter from the hail of bullets beneath another piece of debris on the road. "Gadot!" he called out, the man quickly catching Snow's gaze and taking in his apologetic but determined expression.

Gadot immediately understood and gave a short nod, smirking. "Say "hi" to the missus for me, yeah?" he shouted back. "And tell her Lebreau says so too, huh? Promised her I'd pass it on to ya."

Snow's laugh was rueful, but he gave an affirmative nod nonetheless. He turned back to the silver-haired lady beside him, mildly impressed to see that she was still glaring at him. "Looks like you get your wish," he told her, trying for nonchalance but ending up sounding sheepish. "I've gotta... I've gotta go. I don't think I'll be back." He averted his gaze from hers, unable to stand the disappointment he was sure was growing every second. "I'm sorry."

"I'll help."

His head snapped back up to face her, her expression set. "No," he said immediately, shaking his firmly. "This doesn't... This has nothing to do with you—any of you. I just have to—"

"You're going to the velocycles, right?" she interrupted, earning a frown from him. "You're going to need covering fire."

"How do you—" he began, but was cut off again.

"You said you've got to go. The velocycles are the only place _to_ go," she explained evenly, hefting up the gun in her arms. "I'll help," she repeated.

"I can't let—"

"You don't seem like the type of guy to just run off," she cut in again. "Whatever you're doing, you're doing it for a reason; after all, we've all got a reason we're out here. My reason is back there waiting for me, just like the rest of these people. That's why I'm doing this—because I would do anything to protect him. So I won't let you die before you can protect yours." Her eyes bore into his, and he found he couldn't tear himself away from her stare. "Let me make sure that one of us will live to see our reason again."

Snow sucked in a deep breath. She was giving him that same look of determination and something else, just like she had when had come volunteering. Except now he knew what that something else was.

"You _will_ make it back to him," he told her firmly, but the resignation on her face only grew as she smiled.

It was a smile that broke his heart to see.

"Dear, you are a _very_ bad liar."

* * *

Nora Estheim felt a brief moment of shooting pain in the back of her head before everything went black.

Hope screamed as he watched bullets tear through his mother, so far away.

Snow could not help but reach out for a moment for the silver-haired woman—slowly falling to the ground, blood sputtering out of the back of her head—but he forced himself away, kicking the velocycle into gear and flying off the edge of the road.

Vanille found herself moving instantly as Hope fell to his knees and began to sob, crouching down next to him and wrapping his small body in her arms.

Vanille tightened her grasp around the trembling boy even as she watched the man in the distance dart through the PSICOM forces, his movements jerky and obviously affected by grief, but still just barely enough to fly through the gaping wound and into the Vestige.

Vanille whispered reassurances when unintelligible sounds began to escape the broken child she held, telling him that it was "okay" over and over again in his ear. They were all lies—and this time both of them knew it—but lying was the only thing she could do.

Vanille lied, because lying was the only thing she knew how to do.


	3. Haunted

**Chapter 3: Haunted**

_I remember the first time you held me._

_I'd been having so many nightmares, and I would always wake up thrashing around and screaming. The matrons really didn't do anything about it, good or bad, they just... They said I had to get it out of my system: had to let it go._

_I always hated them for that._

_I was terrified of falling asleep because I knew every night it would be the same dream, over again and again. I tried to stay awake as much as I could, but eventually I'd just be so exhausted and pass out... only to wake up a few hours later with tears in my eyes. It always seemed like days that I was trapped in that nightmare, though._

_I had my own room so I wouldn't wake anybody else. I was just left alone in there every night, praying that the dreams wouldn't come. But they did. They always did. And I would wake up and just lay there, crying and hoping that that would be enough sleep for the night—that I wouldn't have to go back to that place._

_But then one night, I woke up and I wasn't alone. You were there. You were there, just lying next to me and holding me close to you, like you were trying so hard to protect me from my dreams. I remember I cried into your shoulder for what seemed like hours. I was... I was so happy to have someone there with me._

_Eventually I fell back to sleep, with your arms still wrapped around me._

_I didn't have any more bad dreams that night._

* * *

"You know, I always figured this place would be like a maze or something inside."

"Is that so."

"Mmm. Instead it's like... we're being led through; like we've got greens dangled in front of our faces."

"You have a lot of chocobo metaphors."

"What can I say? I've got chocobo on the brain."

"...Was that supposed to be funny?"

"Eh, it's true either way. Damn thing won't give me a rest—Hey, hey, come on! Ow! Sorry! I'm sorry, alright!? Hey, and where are you going!?"

"I'm leaving you to be henpecked to death. It seemed fitting."

"Hardy-har. Well, what do you think?"

"I said it seemed fitting."

"Hilarious as always, Miss Soldier. I meant about the layout of this place. Doesn't it seem like we're just following a path?"

"...Mmm."

"Yeah. This place keeps on moving around; I know that staircase—that green one over there—I know that a minute ago it wasn't even connected to this chunk we're on. I was planning out our route around that big hole, but I turn away for a second and suddenly that's not a problem anymore. It's all moving around. The pieces are rearranging themselves just to get us through faster, but damn if I know how. "

"It doesn't matter how; what matters is who and why."

"...Think it's the fal'Cie?"

"I know it is."

"And why does a Pulse fal'Cie feel like being such a help?"

"...I think we both know why."

* * *

The 11th Day

Lightning's gaze was turned upwards to the fireworks dazzling in the sky, their lights creating a myriad of reflections off the smooth surface of the water below and the protective sphere they were contained in.

She hadn't really wanted to come out for the festival at all, but Serah had insisted, _insisted_ that she show up. Lightning had been more than happy to oblige—wanting to heal the rift that had grown between them since their fight about the blonde idiot Serah had been dating—but Serah had of course blown her off for said blonde idiot the minute he got there. What's more, whatever time they had gotten to spend together was filled with Serah awkwardly shuffling about and trying for small talk that they both knew Lightning was absolutely not interested in in the slightest.

So there she was on the beach, standing alone in the middle of a crowd at an event she hadn't even wanted to attend.

It was disconcerting, to say the least. Her and Serah had always been close, hadn't they? Sure, they had always fought, but they were close; had to be close, what with no one else there...

But then that idiot Snow had showed up, and from then on Serah was all doe-eyed and weak-kneed while Lightning was left to contemplate the many methods of killing someone while leaving no trace that common criminals were really just too stupid to figure out. Director Nabaat had told her she had killer instinct—maybe it was time to put that to the test...

It was with her caught up in her many _completely harmless_ fantasies that she failed to notice the older, rotund man walking up beside her.

"Having fun?" he asked good-naturedly, startling her into snapping her head at him (she had, after all, gone through far too much training to jump at such an intrusion).

She coughed into her hand briefly, trying to regain her constitution before she straightened up and saluted her CO, Lieutenant Amodar. "Yes, sir," she replied crisply, quickly getting back into her default state of professionalism, though her cheeks reddening at being caught off guard was ruining the effect more than she would have liked—

"At ease, Sergeant," he chuckled, raising a hand to wave off her attempted recouping of poise. "You know, you're the only person I've ever met who responds to that question with a "sir" at the end. I'm sure we're both sick of the word as it is, so how 'bout we both just drop it—for tonight, at least?"

She only let her posture relax slightly, but she gave the jovial man a rueful smile. "Yes, sir."

"_Sergeant Farron_."

"Sorry, si—Sorry."

An especially exaggerated sigh was given by him, shaking his head in mock disapproval as he folded his arms across his chest. "You have no idea how glad I'll be when you get promoted, Sergeant," he sighed in a long-suffering tone.

She allowed herself a little smirk, used to the games of her CO now. "Why's that?" she flippantly questioned, replicating his posture. "Tired of having a sergeant showing you up, sir?"

"More like tired of having a sergeant _disobey direct orders from her Commanding Officer_."

A grin almost spread across her face, but she managed to instead appear shamefaced. "Sorry, sir," she told him in a very grave, very serious tone. "Won't happen again, sir."

He laughed loud and proud, an infectiously deep belly laugh that caused the corners of her mouth to twitch. "Insubordinate little smartass," he chided, still laughing.

She allowed herself to smile fully then, only in these circumstances that she would play along with. Amodar was by far the most unusual CO she had ever had, so easygoing and friendly, but his methods worked; he kept his people happy, which was as big a benefit as any in their line of work.

"So let's try this again," he said with a knowing look in her direction. "Having fun? Really?"

She considered for a moment before she shrugged her shoulders, turning back to look at the still continuing display of pyrotechnics. "A little, now," she conceded.

"Ah, then I've done my job," he nodded before striking a thoughtful expression. "Think I'll apply for a pay raise."

"Applying for a raise is always the most humble method," she agreed, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

"Of course. Works like a charm," he winked, getting her to release a short bark of laughter.

They stood together in companionable silence as they watched the fireworks, remaining quiet even as the crowd around them went "ooh" and "ahh." The whole thing provided a nostalgic feeling to Lightning, reminding her of back when Rygdea was around and the three of them would often go out and just hang around together. Such easy times were rare nowadays, what with Rygdea's transfer to the Cavalry and Lightning's now heavy workload as she tried to get enough money to pay for Serah's college tuition—not that her getting into college was as certain as it used to be...

"Ah, scowl's back," Amodar noted, looking at Lightning with friendly concern. "Not a fan of fireworks?"

She shook her head. "The fireworks are fine," she told him, though she wasn't exactly enthralled by them considering she had lived in Bodhum her whole life; fireworks became rather mundane after the hundredth time or so.

"Birthday woes?"

"You remembered?" she asked, genuinely surprised considering how little importance she instilled upon the upcoming day.

"Me? Nah, I can barely remember my own birthday. I got a call from Rygdea couple days back talking about it; said he would be too busy to show up in person so he was sending the gift over for me to give," he explained.

"Ah," was all she said, slowly turning her gaze back to the containment sphere for the fireworks as she tried to squash the flattered feeling in her—it was an easy feat: all she had to do was let her thoughts return to his question. "It's not really birthday troubles, it's just... my sister."

"Serah?" She nodded. "Oh yeah, I remember her. Sweet girl. What's the matter?"

She hesitated, considering just how much to divulge about the situation. "I'm not sure, exactly," she told him, carefully but truthfully, eyes locked on to the fireworks before her. "She... met someone recently—someone I don't think is good for her. And I let it go at first, but now she's acting... different."

At his questioning gaze, she elaborated, "These last couple days, she's... She stopped doing her homework, or even bothering turning it in. She hasn't been going to school, and I don't even know what she _has_ been doing. I mean, she _never_ misses her classes, not even when she's at death's door with the flu—never. It's all because of that idiot, I know it is; he's just this worthless slacker and he's convincing her that school isn't worth it and I met him a couple days ago and I fought with him because he's an _idiot_, but now me and Serah are fighting and she's barely talking to me anymore and—"

"Easy there, Sergeant," he calmly admonished.

She snapped her jaw shut, just now realizing that her "careful" explanation had been devolving into a rant. Her muscles were tensed and she noticed that her nails, dulled as they were, were digging into her arms. God, this was affecting her more than she had thought.

"Sorry, sir," she mumbled, glancing at his concerned expression out of the corner of her eye.

He shrugged it off, not even bothering to correct her usage of his title. "Have you talked to her about it?" he asked plainly.

She felt her jaw tighten involuntarily. "Yes. She keeps denying it, like nothing is wrong. I try to press her about it but she's always running off with her _boyfriend_," she said, hissing out the last word like a curse and causing Amodar's face to twitch with amusement despite himself.

"Hmm. What about tomorrow, for your birthday?" he volunteered, watching her to try and gauge her reaction. "I know it won't make for the best party conversation, but it'll just be the two of you, right?"

She fell silent, contemplating his idea. It _would_ just be the two of them all day, as it was always. Serah's birthday always resulted in the house bursting at the seams with people, but no one was allowed over at Lightning's, not even Rygdea or Amodar (they usually took her out to dinner the next day after work).

"That's a good idea," she admitted, turning her now spotted eyes away from the still continuing fireworks (she was sure they had been going for half-an-hour at this point).

"Don't sound so surprised," he laughed, meeting her gaze. She was a little touched to see he actually looked worried.

Wait, no. Had he been looking like that since he arrived?

She couldn't help but ask, "Sir, what's wrong?"

His whole body stiffened for a moment, turning to look away from her. She was actually shocked to see him react like such, never having seen him behave in such a manner.

"Sir?" she pressed, more than a little concerned now.

The sigh he let out seemed to shake him, and Lightning was suddenly struck with the knowledge of just how old Amodar was. His joviality always gave him the impression of a younger man, but now he just looked... tired—tired beyond even his 40 years.

"You notice all the trains and airships are down?" he asked suddenly, his voice quiet.

She blinked, and then nodded slowly; it had caused a bit of an uproar a few days back when it was announced that all the transport in and out of Bodhum had been temporarily suspended, the reason given being "shell maintenance."

The trapped tourists had mostly quieted down after the Sanctum had volunteered to pay for any and all expenditures as a result of the delay, including hotel fees. Lightning's suspicions were not so quickly eased, but it hardly mattered to her either way since she had only ever left Bodhum on official Guardian Corps business. Still, from how Amodar was acting...

"Is there really something wrong with the shell?" she hazarded, but he shook his head.

"Yaag Rosch is the Chief of the Guardian Corps." The uncertainty on her face grew as she became even more confused. "Cid Raines is the newly appointed General of the Wide-Area Response Brigade, or the Cavalry as everyone knows it. Jihl Nabaat is the Director of PSICOM Operations. Of the three, only Nabaat has ever been to Bodhum, and that was almost seven years ago."

Lightning nodded again, remembering fully well when the (at the time) Deputy Director had visited, but she decided to keep quiet until she saw where her CO was going with this.

"And yet all three of them are here, in Bodhum, right now."

"They are?" she asked, surprised but still not quite understanding. From what she had read, Yaag and Jihl were old friends back from their days in the military academy. There was always the possibility that they were just visiting Bodhum on vacation and decided bring along the newly appointed General for a welcoming party or something of the sort.

But she knew that was a foolish idea. They just happen to come around at the same time that the city goes into lockdown? No, that couldn't possibly be a coincidence, especially not with the increased military presence—Cavaliers and PSICOM officers of this number were almost never seen around resort towns like Bodhum, not even for security purposes.

"I don't know what it is," Amodar muttered darkly, eyes staring unfocusedly into the distance. "First there was that incident at the Euride Gorge, then there was the lockdown on all of Bodhum, then the highest ranking officials from _all_ the divisions of the military arrive, and now I've heard they're barring anyone from getting within twenty kilos of the Vestige—the _Vestige_." He shook his head in disbelief. "That thing's been sealed up airtight ever since it got here, probably even back when it was on Pulse; what do they expect it to do now?"

Lightning pursed her lips, mind racing with the new information. She turned her head to look at the faraway landmark in question, dominating the skyline even from this distance. It was shaped like an upside-down arrowhead, and had been a part of the landscape for as long as anyone could remember. She knew it was a Pulse artifact, caught up in all the supplies brought up to Cocoon during the Reconstruction after the war, but she had never given it much thought until now.

After the war, they had needed to rebuild Cocoon from all the damage it had taken, and with practically every living soul on Pulse wiped out the decision was made by the Sanctum to simply take the supplies from world below; to the victors, the spoils. As a result, there were now a fair many Vestiges around Cocoon, useless pieces of debris that weren't worth the effort to cart back down to Pulse.

The Bodhum Vestige in particular had been discovered to be completely sealed up a long time ago: nothing and no one could get in. The Sanctum—once again claiming it was simply not worth the effort in the midst of everything else—had decided not to even try and pry or blast it open, just leaving it along the outskirts of town. After Reconstruction had finished, it was figured that there was no point looking into it then, so it was left alone. It had actually turned into a rather popular tourist attraction.

So then why did PSICOM have the six-hundred year-old relic on lockdown?

"_Something_ is going on," she stated quietly, turning back to Amodar.

He nodded mutely, head turned down to the sand at his feet, eyes hooded against the ever continuing onslaught of exploding lights before them. "Something is," he agreed quietly, his eyebrows knitted together in worry. It was an expression she had never seen on his face before. "And whatever it is, Farron? It's not looking good."

* * *

"They're pulling away from the Vestige," she murmured. "Why are they doing that?"

There was no response to the girl.

She didn't know if she was talking to herself at this point or just trying to keep the silence at bay now that Hope's sobs had faded away into nothing in her arms—trying to drag his thoughts away from where she knew they no doubt lurked, and maybe relinquish her own mind from the dark shroud around it.

"Why would they give up on the Vestige? Aren't there three people inside it now? Why aren't they sending in more monsters or—or those machine things, or something?"

That man—Gadot—had managed to lead most of the soldiers back after their failed assault, despite the heavy pursuit from PSICOM. They had lost a lot of the people... most of them, really. The survivors had set up skirmishes along a few of the tracks, keeping PSICOM away from the home base where the rescue trains were bound to return any minute.

In a last-ditch effort, they had taken to just using shuttles to try and transport some people out, big flying trucks with lots of cargo space. They weren't durable or fast in the slightest, which was probably why they hadn't tried them until now. She wasn't sure if any of them had made it away safely, but she liked to hope that they had—even if she believed they didn't.

"Maybe we should get rid of these Purge robes. I don't like wearing them. What do you think, Hope? Hope?"

Still no response.

She held in a sigh. She knew what he was going through, but she also knew that they had to get up; they had to be ready for anything with how close PSICOM was getting.

"C'mon, up we go," she exhorted, hooking her arms underneath his and pulling him to her feet with him. He didn't resist, which she honestly couldn't tell was good or bad, but it certainly made things easier. It would be easier for him too once he started moving, find something else to focus on. It would all come crashing back when that had passed, but it would provide a moment of peace at least.

"These things are so stuffy," she complained lightly, wriggling around in the large white robe and trying to pull it over her head. "Aren't they stuffy, Hope? I think I'm gonna ditch mine."

She thought she might have heard a small noise of acknowledgement out of him, though she couldn't see him with the robe currently being pulled over her head. Still, it was a lot better than what she had gotten out of him in the last half-hour or so. She was hopeful for him.

Hopeful for Hope. Oh, he would love that.

"There we go!" she chirped in relief, finally tearing the creepy garment off of her. They looked like sacrificial robes or something. And they were just plain uncomfortable, really; like she said, hot and stuffy.

Of course, she was immediately cold now in nothing but her normal wear. A thin strip of pink cloth around her upper body and a short, frilly skirt were not exactly insulating (even with the extra fur skirt around the back); that, and all the beads she wore around her neck and down her front were quickly becoming freezing against her skin.

"C'mon, you next," she told the young boy, dropping her own robe to the ground and grabbing for his. She heard another small noise from him, which only served to reinforce her dedication.

He was uncooperative, but she managed to tug his robe off of him as well, tossing it to the ground before focusing on him. She was a bit thrown off by his clothing; everything he wore looked, well... fancy—not deliberately so, just definitely much higher quality than a lot of what she had seen around.

Short-sleeved yellow jacket (though the top portion was amber), tucked-in green neckerchief, black shirt, olive drab cargo shorts, and black boots and matching black gloves with white undersides.

And tear-tracks all down his face. Nose puffy and blisteringly raw. Green eyes completely engulfed in red; eyes devoid of everything but raw suffering.

She wondered if that was how she had looked back then.

"The trains should be back soon," she said, gathering up their robes and dragging Hope by the hand to deposit the garments over in the massive pile. "We could wait for them, or maybe we could go with a shuttle. It might be better to leave right away before PSICOM gets any closer."

He was looking away from her now, his eyes locked on the Vestige. The structure that had once been crowded with airships and warmechs around it now rested rather lonely in the sky, all the surrounding guard having seemed to abandon it; now it was left just hanging there, suspended mid-air by two last airships floating lazily above.

"Why did he go there?" he croaked out in demand. She winced at how utterly raw his voice was: it almost hurt to listen to.

"I don't know," she replied truthfully, hesitantly. It was the most he had said since his mother's death, and she wasn't sure if she should be trying to drag as many words out of him as she could.

"He's... He's an idiot," he spat out, speech broken and uneven, each word squeezed out like a poison. His eyes bore into the hole in the side of Vestige where the transport vessel jutted out, all his rage concentrated on the last place where he had seen its source. "Why would he—He'll just get turned into a Pulse l'Cie."

She had no reply for this. He was right, of course. But what was there to say?

"I'm going after him."

Green eyes snapped up to stare at him, her head already shaking before the rebuttal could pour forth from her lips, but the words died in her throat.

Mirroring green stared straight back at her, on a body that shook with hate. She remembered she _had_ felt that, so long ago.

She remembered another girl who had been filled with all that hate. Impotent rage that festered for years before the girl finally couldn't take it anymore and sacrificed anything and everything just so that she finally could act on it.

Vanille looked into those green eyes and did not know who she saw there, but she did know that neither person was Hope. She knew that she could not allow Hope to become either of the people she saw.

"I'll help."

* * *

Snow let out an appreciative whistle as the sight before him. For as much of the dumb blonde that Lightning had always accused him of being, he could still appreciate the sheer complexity of the ancient building he stood in.

Everything was in pieces. Not broken, but waiting to be put together. Pieces that flew to and fro across the enormous room, connecting for the briefest of moments before separating and flying off to find another piece more suitable for them.

If Snow had been a more metaphorical type of man, he might have had a few choice comments about the room. As it was however, the "dumb blonde" theory of his dear sister-in-law's had admittedly had some basis in reality.

"Soooo..." he muttered to himself, the single syllable dragged out through the continuous rumble of the moving pieces. "Where to begin?"

His velocycle rested in a smoldering heap a few rooms back, the variety of bullet holes having quickly rendered the vehicle inert after his narrow entrance into the Pulsian artifact. He had hoped that he would've been able to fly the stolen equipment up through the inside of the Vestige, but the delay in his take-off had alerted more PSICOM forces to his presence than he would have—

He screwed his eyes shut, desperately trying to shove the weary woman's face from the front of his mind. Couldn't think about the take-off. Couldn't think about her. Couldn't second-guess himself. Nowhere to go but forward.

On that note, he heaved in a great breath and did indeed take a step forward on the (thankfully stationary) platform that currently led into... nothing. As soon as his foot met the ground however, a long walkway flew at the front of his platform at breakneck speeds, suddenly braking only milliseconds before it gently connected with his platform.

"Huh."

He frowned down at the newly extending piece out of the platform, wondering if it planned to shoot away the second he tried to get on to it and thereby send him falling to his death. The walkway seemed perfectly content to rest there however, resting still throughout the long seconds he cautiously watched it.

"Nowhere to go but forward..." he mused, walking up to the divide in the two pieces. He sucked in a breath, and then quickly darted forward across the almost infinitesimal gap.

Neither platform made any move to budge.

Well, he would take the wound to his pride rather than the alternative.

"Alright, baby," he said quietly, staring at the broken jigsaw of platforms as they arranged themselves in front of him. "Your hero is on the way."

* * *

The 7th Day

"We're breaking up?"

"Yes."

"We're breaking up."

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"I don't get it."

"Snow!"

He raised an eyebrow at her, arms folded across his chest. His posture had changed little in the past minutes since Serah had made her declaration of them no longer being together.

They were out on a pavilion extending out over the water, a place he noted to be deserted just as it always was. It was one of the more recent additions to the beach, but it didn't really reach too far out to attract any more attention than the actual beachfront; as such, it had been relegated to one of the more unpopular spots in Bodhum. He couldn't help but wonder if she had brought him out there in case he had decided to make a scene. He felt a twinge of something he couldn't quite place at the idea she would think that of him.

Saying that he didn't believe what he was hearing was a fair statement, but it was in the most literal respect. He truly didn't believe that this was what she wanted, not just from their previous time together, but how every aspect of her body language was screaming her reluctance in saying what she was.

Snow had participated in a fair number of break-ups before, and he had always accepted it. Some people didn't work together for the long-term, or even the short-term really, and he had respected the woman's choice in ending things. There was almost _always_ signs when a relationship wasn't working; people who said otherwise tended to be willfully blind, or were breaking-up for that very reason.

Him and Serah, though? He knew for almost a certainty that they were happy together, were working well together. The way they smiled when they were together wasn't the kind that was faked; he had seen enough of those in the group home to know that much.

But these past few days, something _had_ been different with her. She had seemed troubled, and they hadn't seen each other as much, but the cause of her unhappiness had seemed divorced from him. But maybe...

"Does this have to do with your sister?" he asked cautiously, remembering his first meeting with her a few days ago. The timing did seem to align almost perfectly.

She flinched, hugging herself tightly, but she shook her head all the same. "No."

He nodded after a moment; he had thought he had hit the nail on the head considering her initial reaction, but her tone had dissuaded him. It was firm, but also a bit sad; it led him to believe whatever was affecting their relationship was probably also affecting her home life with Lightning. But then that just confused him more.

"Then why?" he asked for what seemed like the twelfth time, noticing how she seemed to rub a blank patch of skin on her upper arm. She had been doing that a lot the last couple days...

"It's not working," she repeated. He noted that her eyes were actively avoiding him, like they had been all day. Another sign something was up.

"Why isn't it working?"

"Because."

He sighed. "That's not an answer, Serah."

She seemed to sigh with him, shaking her head. "Just... stay away from me. It'll be better this way, for the both of us."

"I don't believe that for a second," he responded immediately, frowning.

"Well, I don't care," she snapped, but she still kept her head turned down towards the ground. "That's what _I_ believe."

He couldn't help but release another frustrated sigh. They had been going back and forth about this for a while now, and he was still no closer to any answers: in fact, he was even more confused. "Baby, you're not making _any_ sense, you know?" he told her exasperatedly.

She flinched again, rubbing so hard at that spot on her arm that it was becoming red. "Don't call me that," she muttered.

He felt his heart twist in his chest. Even considering the circumstances, he felt the irrevocable need to take her tiny frame in his arms and tell her it was going to be alright. _Something_ was obviously troubling her, badly, but he had no idea _what_.

Ultimately, he couldn't help it. He unfolded his arms and took a step towards her, holding out his hand. "Baby—"

"Don't _touch_ me!" she shrieked, scrambling away from him so fast that she almost tripped.

He felt his eyes widen as he stared at her trembling form. She had stopped rubbing at the spot on her arm, for which he was momentarily relieved to see, but the relief was exceedingly short-lived as seeing that she was now digging her fingernails so hard into her arm that she was actually beginning to bleed.

He swallowed hard, letting his arms fall to his side. If he had been concerned about her before, he was now downright _terrified_ by what he saw. He had _never_ seen her act like anything even coming close to this.

Just what the hell had happened to her?

"Bab—" he began, but cut himself off, swallowing again and trying to calm his voice. "_Serah_, what... what happened?" he asked haltingly, mentally preparing himself for any response she could give him: screaming, yelling, denying, anything. For a moment, she was just silent.

But then she began to _sob_.

"Oh God, _Serah_," he croaked out, taking a hesitant step towards her, then rushing and wrapping his arms around her when she didn't protest. He hugged her tightly to his chest, her sobs so hard she wasn't even making any sound—her mouth was just hanging open in a silent scream as she shook against him, tears practically gushing from her eyes.

"Please, _please_ tell me what's wrong, baby," he begged, trying and failing to keep his own tears at bay because, oh _God_, what had happened to her? "_Please_ tell me how to fix this. _Please_, let me help you."

Her breaths came in and out in such short, harried moments that he was beginning to get worried about her passing out, she was hyperventilating so badly. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say to make it better because even if he didn't know what had happened, he knew it wasn't something he could just fix like that.

But God, did he wish he could.

"I-I—" she began, words cut in through breaths so short he couldn't even say for certain whether they had happened at all. "I was w-walking and I—because I had a f-f-fight with Cl—_Lightning_, I had a fight with her and I was just walking, and I saw the Vestige and—"

She broke off into a fresh wave of sobs, her head shaking back and forth against his chest. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, resolving to stay quiet even as every part of him demanded that he comfort her, demanded that he stop her from reliving whatever it was that was destroying her inside, but he _couldn't_ because he _had to know_ and he couldn't stop her because—

"—A-And the Vestige, it was—It was weird, because the gate had—It had opened, and I thought I would—I would check it out an-and I went inside and there was—there was—"

She stopped shaking then, pulling away ever so slightly just so she could stare up at him, her beautiful face just soaked with tears, and she looked at him with such—with such _fear_ and he didn't know why—

"There was a fal'Cie."

He felt his body go still.

The arms around her felt so heavy as he looked down at her, and he was so horrified because he had to be wrong, it couldn't be what he thought, it had to be a Cocoon fal'Cie but why would a Cocoon fal'Cie be in a _Pulse_ Vestige—

"It was a Pulse fal'Cie—" she said, and he felt his world shatter just that little bit more, but she wasn't done no matter how much he prayed she was, and she was staring at him like she had to—_had to_ say what they both knew was coming but both didn't want to hear.

"It... It branded me. It made me a Pulse l'Cie."


	4. Vestige

**Chapter 4: Vestige**

_I'd always try to hold on to something of yours when we were apart, you know?_

_I thought that if I had something—anything that belonged to you, you'd have to come back and get it. Just whatever I could get my hands on, like a bracelet, or a knife, or just some other little thing. That way, no matter what happened, I was sure you'd be back for it one day. And it... it made me feel like we weren't apart, really; like I still had some piece of you._

_That's why I was so scared when we had to split up that time, after what happened at the gorge. I didn't have a single thing of yours with me. You were just gone, and I was all alone with nothing._

_I ended up keeping an image of you in my head, all the time. Weird, right? But I had to. I had to have something giving me hope that we would be together again._

_I needed some way to hold on to you._

* * *

Vanille's pained groan echoed inside the cavernous structure.

To be completely fair, she should have probably made sure Hope had _some_ skill at piloting a velocycle before they took off. After quickly coming up with a plan, they had wasted no time in carrying it out; after all, who knew how long PSICOM was going to leave the Vestige completely unguarded? She had just figured he must have had some experience considering he was the one who had come up with the idea in the first place. As it turned out, he hadn't.

So they were both lying next to the wreckage of their stolen velocycle.

She supposed one might think on the bright side of this: that they had managed to successfully crash _inside_ the Vestige at least, and not splattered out on the side. She had honestly been worrying about that for a moment there.

Too bad she wasn't one to look on the bright side.

"Hey, look on the bright side," she cheerfully called out from her position supine on the floor. "At least we made it inside before we crashed."

She couldn't tell if Hope's replying groan was out of pain or because of her comment.

"Okay, so... Up we go," she murmured, pushing herself up on to her elbows and immediately wincing in pain. Elbows apparently were not the way to go if the vast gouges on both of them were any indication. Stupid.

She rolled over on to her front and pushed herself up on her hands and knees, shaking her head clear of the dizziness from the crash. She let herself rest like that for a moment, and then easily hopped to her feet, already rejuvenated.

"You okay?" she asked, quickly walking over to where he laid face down on the ground. He let out another groan, which she wasn't entirely sure was supposed to reassure her, but she could better tell from this distance that he hadn't gotten as injured as her. Just her luck, she supposed.

"Hurts," he said, rolling himself on to his back and wincing.

_"Hurts," she said, rolling herself on to her back and wincing._

_"You get used to it."_

"You get—" she began, but stopped herself. No, too many questions down that road. What would little old Vanille know about pain? "You'll be okay, I think. It doesn't look so bad."

He didn't reply, which didn't surprise her; he still wasn't talking much, not that she or anyone could really blame him.

"So what now?" she questioned, looking around. Staircases and walkways flew around over their heads, but it seemed they had managed to land on a rather large, steady portion. Looking up, she could see similar stationary pieces above them—they seemed to act as centerpieces for each level of the Vestige. She hadn't noticed that before, but she supposed her mind had been elsewhere.

He didn't reply for a long moment, shuffling to his feet and confusedly looking around their new, alien environment. She didn't blame him; it _was_ a pretty confusing place.

"I... I don't know," he said, hesitantly, like he was expecting a reprimand for the statement—it had been his plan after all, and (had she any less patience) some reproach would have been the most likely scenario; as it was however, she hadn't expected anything else.

"Well, how's 'bout we take a look around, hmm?" she told him brightly, hands placed firmly on her hips and gaze set and determined as she looked out at the jumbled interior, looking for all intents and purposes looked as though she was ready for an exciting adventure into uncharted land and not a delve into what was most commonly known now as a hive of the devil.

She saw Hope nodding out of the corner of her eye, but it was a nervous gesture. _Cold feet,_ she quickly surmised, though the knowledge had little-to-no effect on her plans. If he backed out now, he would just hate himself more later on. Besides, there wasn't any room _to_ back out—their transport was after all sitting in a smoldering heap just behind them.

"O-Oh, are you okay?" he asked suddenly, sounded chagrinned at only having remembered to check.

She waved his concern off though, not even turning back to look at him as she planned out their route. "Don't worry about it," she chirped, absentmindedly using one hand to rub at one of her spotless elbows. "I didn't get a scratch on me."

* * *

"Cie'th."

Sazh felt his whole body tense at the very word, desperately wanting to refute his companion's declaration but completely unable to.

"...What should we do?" he asked the pink-haired soldier who stood beside him in this suicidal folly. As it was, he should have taken notice of her silence, but he instead found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the... _abominations_ gathered on the platform just a ways ahead of them, all standing stock-still; they didn't even breathe, though Sazh knew that didn't affect them either way.

The only though that went through his head during that time was: _are they still alive somewhere in there?_

It was several long moments later before he finally shook himself out of his horror, turning to look at his equally shell-shocked companion.

"Miss soldier?" he prodded, looking down at her concernedly. He credited her pride for her immediate reaction to the tone, snapping a glare at him.

"There," she said, nodding over to a stairway on the side of the platform they were on. "Our weapons create too much noise. If we fought them, it might attract more. Better to go around."

"That's assuming the fal'Cie gives us a path that lets us go around 'em," he noted, mentally cursing the fact that they were at the mercy of one of the sworn enemies to their home—even if it was currently working out in their favor.

"I'm assuming the fal'Cie wants us both alive and well when we reach it," she muttered, quietly making her way to the stairway in question (Sazh close behind) as more platforms appeared to connect to the platform and accommodate their new route.

It was an unspoken fact that hung between both of them now. They knew that there was nothing and no one controlling this entire contraption besides the fal'Cie who resided there. They knew, as did everyone else on Cocoon, that there was only one reason a Pulse fal'Cie would ever assist someone: if they wanted that person as their newest l'Cie.

"Maybe the thing wants to test us, make sure that we can put up a fight if it's gonna brand us," he said, hesitating on the word "brand."

"Maybe it is a test," she agreed, tone despondent as they climbed. "Maybe it wants to see if we're smart enough to avoid trouble when we carry out the Focus it gives us."

He shrugged in reply, though she couldn't see it since he was trailing after her. He just wanted the conversation over now. They were talking so readily, so hopelessly about being branded—like it was a certainty at this point. That wasn't the mindset he wanted going into this... Whatever this was.

It also wasn't the mindset he wanted for Lightning. He needed her at her best for the fight that was no-doubt coming—he knew she would want that as well. But she seemed to have been just as effected by the sight of Cie'th as he was (if not more so), which was just... ridiculous, really. What reason did she have to be upset by that?

He knew nothing about her. He knew nothing about why she was here, what she was doing. And now she was stalking forward without an apparent thought to him, only concerned with her own, clandestine goals. And she stalked very fast.

"You okay?" he questioned, speeding up a little so that he was walking alongside her (though at far too brisk at pace for his liking).

"Fine," she snapped, turning her head away from him and finding the stamina to someone speed up even further.

He groaned, making to follow after her again, since she obviously wasn't going to say what was bothering her—

...

Actually, you know what, _no_.

"What are you doing?" she demanded of him as he went about sitting down with his back against the raised edges of the platform.

"_We_ are taking a break," he explained easily, holding out his hand for the chocobo chick to hop into from his afro.

"_Why_." Her voice was practically a snarl at this point, and her glare would probably be enough to stop a rampaging chocobo.

He frowned once more. He really _did_ have a lot of chocobo metaphors, didn't he? Damn binge of handler's books...

He glanced over to where she was (rather impatiently) waiting for an answer. That glower of hers really was one for the history books.

"Why are you in here, Miss Soldier?" he asked quietly, bouncing the chocobo in his palm much to the chick's excitement. "What's a Guardian Corps sergeant doing hijacking a Purge train and breaking into a Pulse Vestige?"

She appeared thrown by the sudden shift in topic, but she quickly turned her features into a sneer. "You fir—"

"My son is a Cocoon l'Cie."

She stopped.

"It was by Kujata, a little over a week ago," he explained, his attention focused solely on the happy chocobo in his hand. "Remember that "incident" down at the Euride Gorge? That was his branding."

She didn't say anything. Not that he could blame her.

"Something happened—not quite sure what—but the fal'Cie got spooked and branded the closest person it could find. It was trying to protect itself, or... or something. I don't know."

He heard more than saw her slowly sitting down on the floor next to him. His attention was barely focused on her either way.

"His name's Dajh. He's six-years-old. PSICOM took him in, like they do with all the Cocoon l'Cie. Wouldn't tell me what his Focus was—said it was classified. Say he's got tracking abilities, that he's able to find stuff from Pulse. Few days later, he leads a whole squad right up to the Vestige, which is suddenly open wide for anyone to come in. They send in a surveillance drone, find a fal'Cie inside."

He heard her release a shuddering breath.

"And here we are," he muttered, finally turning his head to look at her.

"Here we are," she agreed in the most subdued tone he had heard out of her yet, her gaze distant and unfocused.

The two fell into silence then, Sazh continuously bouncing the tiny bird. It never seemed to grow tired of the simple activity. It reminded him of Dajh.

"That doesn't explain why you're here," she said finally. Her tone wasn't confrontational, more like a simple acknowledgement.

He nodded. "They won't tell me his Focus, so I'm just guessing... but what I'm thinking is, he gets branded right along the same time the Vestige containing a Pulse fal'Cie opens up? Focus must have something to do with it."

"Something to do with it," she repeated, her eyes shut tightly.

"Yeah. So that's why I'm here. Figure Kujata must've, I dunno, sensed the Pulse fal'Cie waking up or something, right? Guessing it branded Dajh to have him find it, kill it. But the Sanctum isn't doing a thing. They're too scared to make it mad and have it go on a killing spree—or worse, a branding spree. So they're just gonna cart the damn thing back down to Pulse and be done with it."

"But that won't fulfill your son's Focus."

"No. No, it won't." He looked over his back, over the side of the platform to watch the shambling corpses clustered on a platform below. More Cie'th.

"And you won't let him turn into one of those... things," she said, turning to follow his gaze.

"No, I won't."

He turned back to her to notice her fiddling with a survival knife in her hands. She kept flipping the blade in and out. It was a more... childish gesture from her than he had been expecting.

"How many days ago did he get branded?" she asked quietly. At his questioning look, she just shook her head. "Please."

He hesitated, but it was only for a moment before he relented. "Eight days ago." She winced like he had just slapped her across the face. "Why?"

Her fiddling with the large knife resumed. She seemed like she was mulling over his question, maybe thinking of the right way to phrase her answer—not that he knew why that would be necessary.

He let her think it over though, whatever it was. Maybe he gave her time because he still couldn't help but think of her as a kid, especially in that moment as she jittered with the weapon in her hands. Maybe it was because he just didn't want to rush her.

Maybe it was the way she was looking at the knife: with so much... _reverence_, but also so much regret—the same way he looked at the chocobo still jumping in his hand.

"Ten days ago..." she began, her voice suddenly so frail and quiet like she was afraid of shattering some... _something_. "My sister was..."

She cleared her throat, and it was then that he noticed the sheen of tears in her eyes—tears she so stubbornly refused to let out.

"Ten days ago, my sister was branded," she said, rushing out the words in a single breath as Sazh felt his own catch.

His movements stilled, and even the little bird in his palm seemed to notice that now was not the time to break the silence, its chirps falling into nothing.

"Just like Dajh," he muttered, but the pink-haired girl just shook her head fiercely, bitterly.

"No," she said, with so much crushing despair and pain that he couldn't even consider what the single word meant for a moment, not until she had already confirmed it. "She was branded... here. In this Vestige. By a Pulse fal'Cie."

If he had been in the state of mind to notice, he would have seen how her gaze never once left the knife in her hands for a moment, not even as she spoke.

"She told me yesterday," she continued, though the words were almost a toneless buzz to his ears, maybe even to her own. "It was my birthday. She gave me this knife, as my present."

It was only then, in that moment, that he noticed that the tears in her eyes were finally free, silently falling down her face.

"I told her I'd kill her with it."

* * *

The 12th Day

"Why."

"Light—"

"Tell me why."

"Snow is—"

"Why would you do this?"

Serah flinched in front of her, whether at the words or at the sheer, deathly quiet tone of Lightning's voice, she was unsure. She was practically cowering, body pressed closely to the side of _that man_. She was sweating—she looked terrified, terrified of Lightning.

Some enraged part of her screamed: _Good._

Serah had a bandage wrapped around one of her upper arms, and she was rubbing at it with her other hand; Serah had told her the other day that she had just scratched it on something, but Lightning couldn't even bring herself to care at this point beyond that same furious thought at the back of her mind that she had had when she first saw it: that _there, that is proof he can't take care of her, that he can't protect her._

Yet she still clung to him, allowed him to wrap his arm around her protectively (like he was protecting Serah from _her_), and _he_ was glaring at her like she was the problem in all this. Yes, she supposed, she must have just been _ruining_ this moment for him: ruining this announcement that they had concocted _such_ a story for.

"So what?" she asked, her voice filled with so much contempt and barely contained rage that both of the pair standing before her flinched. "You're just going to throw everything away? Is that it?"

"Cla—"

"_DON'T_," she said, screamed really, at her younger sister. They were both fools, this girl who recoiled instantly and the buffoon who stepped in front of her, acting like a shield for Serah from her. She couldn't even deny it was necessary at this point. She could have laughed at the thought—finally he did something she approved of.

"Don't," she began again, decidedly calmer but still with the undercurrent of almost murderous intent, "call me that."

Lightning could see Serah swallow uneasily, but the younger girl nodded anyway.

"L-Lightning," she said, her eyes focused on the small boxes decorating the counter. The boxes that Lightning had so slowly and quietly opened, each gift appraised without a word and set aside in complete, deafening silence as Serah and Snow had uneasily stood by and watched.

"T-This wasn't... This is real, I'm not—" she said, but was cut off by Lightning's laugh. It was a short, bitter laugh completely devoid of mirth or joy, instead so mocking and empty that it sent shivers through Serah's body. She felt Snow tense beside her, staring at Lightning like she was insane, but she only motioned with her hand for Serah to continue, not even sparing a glance to Serah's boyfriend—no, her _fiancé_.

Serah swallowed again, trying desperately to restore moisture to her deathly dry mouth. "T-This is... is r-real, Lightning. I w-went into the Vestige, and there was a P-Pulse..." She stopped, heaving a great breath as she felt Snow's hand engulf hers and give a comforting squeeze. Lightning's eyes did not leave Serah's for a moment, but Serah could see her eyes narrow just that fraction more at the action.

"There was a... Pulse fal'Cie i-inside," she said, trying to fill the statement with as much conviction as possible, in the hopes that her sister would just _believe_ her, "and it... branded me."

"Fuck you."

Serah felt like she had just been shot. She was almost tempted to reach up to her stomach and check for a bullet hole, but that motion might finally be the thing to cause Lightning to completely snap.

"Fuck you," her sist—no, this _stranger_ in front of her repeated. She did not raise her voice at all, but that somehow just made it worse.

"Hey!" Snow began, valiantly but vainly trying to get the situation under control. "Just calm down, sis—"

Serah was one-hundred-percent certain that if Lightning had her gunblade at that moment, Snow would have just been killed. A bullet right between his eyes. As it was, Lightning could only finally direct her glare towards him, filled with so much pure hate that it was unfathomable to Serah that this person could have been the same, doting sister who used to braid her hair for her every morning, even on days when she had to work.

"So you're a... a Pulse l'Cie, is that right?" Lightning asked, her tone practically overflowing with scorn.

"I-I am!" Serah cried, looking pleadingly at her sister. "Please, Light, you have to believe me! I wouldn't—wouldn't _lie_ about something like this! You know that, know _me_!"

"I barely know you anymore," she said, voice far quieter than it had been before. Even with the way her sister had been handling this, Serah still felt a stab of guilt at the hurt in Lightning's tone. "Ever since you met him, we've barely even spoken. You chose him over me, every time."

Serah shook her head desperately as Snow tried to make himself as small as possible (a difficult feat considering his towering stature). "It w-wasn't like that! I wasn't abandoning you just to spend time with him, I just was—I've just been busy, and I..."

But she _had_ been doing just that, even back before she had gotten branded. She had been neglecting Lightning to hang out with Snow and his friends. She had just... She'd needed a break from Lightning, was all; needed time away from her sister-turned-mother after more than five years together, just the two of them in that big, empty house.

And Lightning seemed to sense that, for her face grew hard again as she glared at the two of them.

"So you just happened to get branded by a Pulse fal'Cie, and then you tell _him_," she spat, the unspoken "instead of me" lingering bitterly in the air for a moment before she continued, "and then _he_ pops the question? That's what you're saying? That you just _happened_ to run into a Pulse fal'Cie hidden away here, in one of the most popular towns on Cocoon, and now you just _happen_ to have this incredibly convenient reason for the two of you riding away into the sunset and never, ever coming back?"

"C-Convenient—"

"Tell me, how exactly are you two going to get by? Hmm? He doesn't have a gil to his name," she said, glaring at him like he was a worm, even as he towered over her. "Doesn't have a job either, last I checked. He runs those monster hunts with the rest of those idiots—which he oh-so-nobly does not accept any money in return for—he lives, literally _lives_ in the backroom of that bar his slut of a friend owns—"

"Hey!" Snow shot out, but was silenced by another deathly glare by Lightning.

"So since you two are going to run away, I guess you mean in the most literal respect as well; the two of you living in a tent down at, what, the Sunleth Waterscape? Scavenging food from trash bins? Or maybe you could hunt the monsters there with your magic—oh, _that's_ right! You're the one l'Cie who doesn't have any powers! Have to say, Serah, you really got the short end of the stick on _that_ deal."

Serah grit her teeth, hand coming up to rub the bandaged arm once more.

"Oh, and it's just _so_ convenient that l'Cie brands can only be seen by fellow l'Cie, and of course you can't find another l'Cie to confirm it since you're a _Pulse_ l'Cie and they would kill you if they knew who you were. Am I missing anything, Serah?"

Serah turned her eyes up to glare at her sister, unable to believe that Lightning would do this to her when everything else was going on. Across the kitchen, the same thoughts barreled through Lightning's mind.

"No," Serah ground out, shaking her head. "You're not missing anything."

Lightning kept her glare on Serah for just a moment further before turning it over to Snow, but he stood firm even under her murderous stare.

"So you are. You are going to just throw everything you have, everything I did for you... you'll just throw it all away," Lightning confirmed, returning her gaze to Serah.

And... for some reason, that comment just caused Serah to... to bristle with indignation.

"I'm not... _throwing_ it away, I never asked you—"

"_What?_"

Serah's gaze snapped up to her sister, and the words in her mouth faltered. She should have known to stop at that point. She should have known, seeing something in Lightning's eyes that she had _never_ seen there before, not even throughout this whole conversation. She should have just stopped, and left.

But she was angry. Angry at Lightning. Angry at her sister for making this about _her_. It was _Serah's_ life that had just been ruined, completely and without any chance of recouping, and here Lightning was thinking this was all just some big... what, some _lie_ just so her and Snow could run off and elope?

She was furious at her sister, and it was that fury that made her throw caution to the wind and say those words she _knew_ she shouldn't have, immediately knew was a mistake.

She should have just stopped.

"I never asked you to take care of me."

But she hadn't.

And Lightning broke.

If any of the three inhabitants of that room were later asked what had happened, none would be able to provide a precise recollection. All would be glad for that fact.

But the next thing Snow knew, he was on the ground, pain erupting from his head, eyes swimming around dazedly as they tried to refocus.

And the next thing Serah knew, she was being pressed up against the kitchen wall with her sister's hand around her throat. Lightning was looking at her, staring at her with such _loathing_ that Serah could do nothing but whimper even as the fingers tightened against her neck.

"You're right," Lightning said to her, her voice a quiet monotone as Snow struggled to get to his feet, but his brain just would not cooperate, still reeling from Lightning's attack. "You're right, you never asked me to take care of you, or look after you. No, that was our _mother_."

The fingers tightened further. Serah released a strangled cry.

"That was our mother who asked me to care of you, who _begged_ me to make sure you would be alright. She was crying and screaming, and her guts were flowing out of her body, and she was grabbing me, shaking me with hands covered in her own blood as she told me over, and over, and over that _I_ had to take care of _you_."

Her grip tightened again.

"But wait—that's right, I forgot. You weren't there. Or, you were, but you couldn't bear it. You just were crying and weeping while those Guardian Corps officers tried to comfort you. You were there, surrounded by people telling you it was going to be okay, while I was left alone for some final moments with our mother, who was telling me that _nothing_ was going to be okay unless _I_ took care of it. I had to stand there and listen, and _watch_ her die while she was crying _your_ name."

Serah was sobbing—silently, because she had no room for sound with the air she was being deprived of.

"You didn't ask me to drop out of school and sign up for every job I could find, forge all the information we needed to make sure we weren't—_you_ weren't thrown into one of those group homes. You didn't ask me to enter the Guardian Corps at fifteen-years-old. You didn't ask me to put my life on the line every day, because it had to be _that_ job because it was the only one I could possibly hold that paid enough for us to keep the house. You didn't ask me to help make sure you got through school, could even _afford_ to go to school. No, you didn't ask me any of that."

Spots were appearing in Serah's vision, but she didn't even register it, too busy praying to God that Lightning would just stop talking or get it over with because she couldn't—_couldn't_ listen to this anymore.

"But I did it anyway. For _her_. But you're right, I should have asked _you_. So here I am asking you now: should I make sure you get everything you want? Should I make sure you have a roof over your head? Should I make sure you get an education, a career? Or should I just let you throw... it... all... _AWAY_."

At these words, Lightning finally relinquished her grasp on Serah, granting her a brief moment of relief as she greedily sucked in air before she realized she was being thrown across the room to crash into her fiancé who immediately wrapped his arms around her like a cocoon.

Lightning just stood there, staring at the two of them with no expression on her face; in fact, she looked like she was a walking corpse as she slowly made her way over to the tiny assortment of presents. Serah could only cry, trying to keep her sobs silent as she watched her sister pick up the very knife Serah had just gifted to her.

"This was a very thoughtful gift, Serah. Thank you for it," she said in a completely emotionless tone, unfurling the blade and staring at her reflection in the metal. "After all, you _are_ a Pulse l'Cie, aren't you?"

Serah's sobs stopped abruptly. She slowly rose her gaze up to look at her... at her big sister's eyes as she stared down at the two of them in a heap in the kitchen they had grown up in.

"C-Cl—" she began, but stopped at her sister's slowly shaking head.

"I told you not to call me that, Serah. That girl died with our mother," she explained calmly, just standing there, staring at the two of them with the knife gleaming in her hand. "But you were never good at listening to what I told you, were you? I suppose I should be extra clear, in that case."

She held up the knife at eye level, once again examining the blade.

"You see, I told you that it was a thoughtful gift. I'm very glad you gave it to me. You didn't let me explain _why_ it was thoughtful, however." Lightning slowly took a step forward, and it was enough to get Snow to scramble to his feet, dragging Serah up with him and supporting her in his arms, for to her it felt as though all the bones in her body had just rotted away all of a sudden.

"I'm on vacation today, as you know, since my birthday is the one day every year I take off: I like to spend it just me and you, after all. So I'm not on-duty today. But tomorrow, since you're _apparently_ a Pulse l'Cie and a danger to all of Cocoon... Tomorrow, I'm going to be back to being a Sergeant in the Guardian Corps."

Lightning's eyes met Serah's for that moment, and neither one could tear their gaze away, even as Lightning spoke the words that would haunt both of their dreams that night.

"And if I see you again, I will take this knife," she said, holding out the weapon in question in front of her for display, "and I will slit your throat with it."

The two sisters stared at each other.

"Now, please get out of my house."

Serah had sobbed into Snow's chest the entire way back to his place.

Lightning didn't shed a single tear.

No, Lightning's stony expression did not falter for a second. She made her way to the living room, turned on the television, and sat down with a bottle of wine.

She sat there for hours with her face an unchanging mask, staring at the screen but not seeing it. She sat there silently until a special news broadcast came on, telling the inhabitants of Bodhum that a Pulse fal'Cie had been discovered in the Bodhum Vestige, and that the entire town was being Purged due to suspicions of there being a Pulse l'Cie residing there.

Then Lightning sobbed.


End file.
